


Family Matters

by Aleph (Immatrael), EarthScorpion



Series: Ascensions and Transgressions [10]
Category: Exalted
Genre: Other, Role-Playing Game, Roleplay Logs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-06-16 02:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 110,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15426822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Immatrael/pseuds/Aleph, https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarthScorpion/pseuds/EarthScorpion
Summary: Seventeen years have passed since Keris lost her home, her kin and her freedom in one fell swoop. Now she returns, empowered with dreadful might and burning with righteous cause. But she may not be prepared for what she finds there - or for the consequences of finding it.





	1. Chapter 1

It’s early one morning when Keris leaves Terema, Kuha in tow. They’ve both got fully loaded bags, and between them they look just like other mercenaries and fortune-hunters heading into this civil-war riddled country.

They’re not the only ones going. Along the way, they pass a column of the shahbanu’s men leaving the city. They’re dead-eyed soldiers, dressed in browns and blues, holding to a tight formation even as they head south after pausing to resupply.

The weather is chilly, and there’s frost on the trampled grass. It’s moving into the depths of the Season of Air, and that means that even this far south it’s getting cold. It’ll be even colder up in the mountains. Keris can’t remember off the top of her head if it snows in Taira, but if it does anywhere, it’ll be in the mountains she’s heading up to.

((How direct a route is she taking, is she heading more slowly so she can get a more personal level view of the country and maybe help out as she promised Calesco, etc?))  
((She’s more focused on the slave trail leading from Baisha upriver, so she’ll be following Kuha’s route via Cissidy as soon as she can be sure of not being seen. She might calm down a bit and slow down once she’s actually seen the place, but for now she’s v. impatient.))

The area around Terema and the coastline seems to be fairly securely under the control of the shahbanu. That matches what Keris has heard - it’s in the inland mountains and the southern jungles where the rebels control things. Certainly, lots of people seem to have fled to this region. Keris comes across ramshackle towns and tent cities full of refugees. It’s going to be a very cold winter here, and the people in them seem to be working as hard as they can to put up what structures they can. The whole area’s been heavily deforested, though.

That delays her ride, because there are just too many damn people around. It’s past lunchtime when they can dart off into a depleted temperate forest and Keris can call Cissidy out.

ARE WE GOING FOR A RUN? her ribbons read, as she silently whinneys happily.

“Up into the mountains,” Keris confirms. “To my home village; Baisha. We’ll be following the rivers, mostly.”

“We’ll probably be seen,” Kuha interjects. “There are a lot more foot-people here than I thought there’d be. It’s much busier than the swamp. And Cissidy leaves her pretty ribbons behind.”

Keris huffs. “We could travel at night...?”

Kuha shrugs. “It might not matter. People can’t stop Cissidy, unless they can catch her. Or you could follow the river valleys and carry me yourself.”

Pursing her lips, Keris considers. “Well, we’re definitely not walking like mortals,” she decides. “It’s two hundred miles away; that’d take... like, all of today and tomorrow.”

Kuha trades a quiet, dubious glance with Cissidy, and then remembers that the demon-horse has even less understanding of how fast normal people travel than Keris appears to.

“Still, I’d rather not be seen...” Keris continues, scrunching up her face. “Urgh. It’ll still take twice as long if I’m carrying you, but at least that way we get subtlety. Sorry, Cissidy. I’ll call on you if the people thin out, how’s that?”

FIIIIIIIIIIINE, Cissidy’s ribbons spell out, as she comes apart into ribbons and vanishes into Keris.

“So she’s made of ribbons and the zilkerabi are made of ribbons and you’re made of ribbons,” Kuha says thoughtfully, as she shuffles behind Keris and prepares to climb into her hair. “You really like ribbons.”

“Eko likes ribbons,” Keris tells her. “Have I told you about my souls? I guess it’d make some good conversation while we run.”

“I know about Princess Haneyl because she’s the smartest and prettiest one and Rounen talks about her, but I don’t know much about the others,” Kuha says happily. “Come on, let’s go. And I can give you directions as we go.”

Once this starts, things go much faster. Keris has someone to distract her as she runs, and it’s not like sprinting tires her out or anything.

The fight sign of her leaving the lands controlled by the shahbanu come when she finds that the valley she was planning to head up has a big stone fortress overlooking it. There’s soldiers of the shahbanu manning boats in the river and occupying the nearby town. They’ve blockaded the road and no one’s going up it.

“... which is why he’s such a fan... of... dragons,” Keris tails off, coming to a halt. “Huh. Hello. This looks odd. We might have to change our route a bit to get past this without being seen.”

“We can probably head up into the wooded slopes of the valley,” Kuha says. “But if it’s a war here, then there’s probably lots of people controlling these rock buildings, because they’re like sky islands that can’t fly.”

“Fortress,” Keris tells her. “And yeah, these look like the shahbanu’s men. Best guess; this is one of the forts defending her borders.”

She frowns. “Shahbanu Sabah II... you know, I’m pretty sure I remember celebrating one of her birthdays. Well, maybe her birthday. Something related to the shah’s family. I was... two, maybe. There was a painted boat that came down the river, and lots of singing.”

She shakes the memory off. “Well, whatever. I’m not getting involved in this when we don’t even know which side is doing what. Baisha first, then we can think about meddling.”

But as she follows the rivers, following the lines and Kuha’s orders, she can’t just ignore things. Upstream from the shahbanu’s men is a fortress flying a red banner with an eagle on it, then when Keris bypasses that there’s another fortress with a black and white flag, and then there’s just a burned out village. The river valleys are just utterly fragmented. No one can easily take the great stone fortresses, and so the entire area has just fragmented. Away from the valleys, things are even worse because the hillfolk don’t fly the flags of the lords and plenty of valleyfolk have fled to their relatives in the hills to raid and attack settlements.

Keris is getting close to Baisha when she finds another barricade over a thin mountain pass. The symbol of a green and yellow banner with crossed axes on it seems familiar somehow.

She peters to a stop again - this time halfway through explaining the Spire-top eyries that Vali has built for Calesco, which Kuha seems very interested in - and stares at it, frowning. There are a lot of lords up here, and Keris is sure that one of them must have been the one responsible for what happened to her village. The question is; was it this one? She vaguely recalls seeing the flag through tear-blurred eyes. She might have been on a boat at the time.

Grey eyes narrow slowly. “Kuha,” she says quietly. “How close are we to Baisha?” Kuha folds her map, rustling as she does.

“Maybe twenty miles away. Depends on the route you take.”

Keris glares up at the green and yellow banner. “I recognise that flag,” she says quietly. “From when I was very, very small. From just after the attack, I think.”

“Did they have that flag, or did you get moved through their lands?” Kuha asks, peering at her map to see if there are any other notes on it that could help her tell the difference. There don’t seem to be.

The razor-edged focus in her chest settles a little. Keris glances back the way they’ve come. “I’d have had to have come through this way to get to the Grey River...” she muses. “Hard to say. All I remember is the flag.”

She thinks a moment longer.

“We could go up and sneak into the castle and look for any ties to slaving,” she eventually decides. “But that would take time. And all we’ve got to suspect them is half a memory, and they’re not exactly going anywhere. If we had Sasi here I’d be tempted to ask her to rummage around in my head for the details, but we don’t. So... for now, we move on to Baisha. But we keep an eye out for that banner appearing, and for any others I find familiar.”

The villages and towns around here fly the banner, Keris finds as she skips along mountain ridges. There’s a lot of soldiers around here. Or maybe mercenaries. It’s hard to tell the difference. Either way, there’s armed men who are being put up in the small towns and villages scattered across this mountainous landscape. Keris isn’t sure if they’re occupying them, they’re defending the places, or just that... well, it’s the Season of Air and it’s cold up here and the soldiers need somewhere to stay.

The land here is clay and chalk. There’s some mines up in the hillsides, and certainly compared to the area around Eshtock everything feels much more healthy. There’s none of the cloying marsh-stench, and the air is fresh and a little thinner than Keris is used to.

And she has her answer. There’s snow on the mountaintops around here.

She looks around with a child’s eyes; drinking in the sight of her homeland; her birthplace. She wishes she could say it sparked memories, but... she can’t, really. Sasi dragged some up from the depths of her subconscious, but not all - and even those ones have faded back down since then. They’re closer to the surface than they were, but so much is still tantalisingly just outside of reach.

Something about the nearest mountainside catches Keris’ attention. It takes a while for it to click, but when it does, she realises that the entire mountain was once carved into the shape of someone’s face. Time and damage has worn away at it so it isn’t obvious at first glance, but Keris has seen some of the strange shaping of Malfeas and visited Ligier’s layer and she recognises it. Now, the mountain is half broken away, ice covers its top, and a waterfall falls from what she thinks was once a colossal eye socket.

She looks for the caste mark, almost idly, and her eyes pick out what looks to be a mountain temple up there. Yes, that probably does mean it’s from the High First Age. She dithers for a moment, but curiosity prickles at her, and it’s not too far out of their way. “Kuha,” she calls back softly. “We’re diverting a little. I want a look at that temple.”

There is a long mountain path that leads up the collapsed mountainface, clearly marked for pilgrims and the vegetation has been cleared back enough that clearly some still come up here. It’s a beautiful scenic route, leading past the rivers and the waterfalls and the bare trees. The air smells like snow and fresh water.

Keris, of course, doesn’t take that route but instead just sprints there directly, which is much faster all around.

The temple, she sees up close, is a very strange place. It’s built sideways, out of the mountain, and shaped like a disk with an outer ring around it - though the outer ring is broken in several places. She recognises the honey gold stone here - it’s the same things that the nobby bits of Nexus were built from. There’s quiet voices up there in prayer, and she sees a few monks in saffron-orange robes who are up on scaffolding, applying some fresh coats of white paint to more recent additions to the temple complex.

Holding a finger to her lips to keep Kuha quiet, Keris takes a look around. Up close, it’s hard to see the hints of the face the mountain once was, but the tell-tale marks of artifice aren’t entirely gone, and up here they mostly revolve around what used to be the caste mark. The temple is a disc inside a ring - like Orange Blossom’s, then. This face was probably that of an Eclipse. And... oh. That’s interesting. She thinks, based off the design of the temple and the strange metal she can hear sunk into the rock, that this was once a manse - once a very powerful manse, if her study is correct. But there’s no trace of power here anymore. These monks are inhabiting a manse whose dragonlines are gone, perhaps destroyed by whatever wrecked the mountain.

“... come on,” she tells Kuha. “We might as well see if we’re in the right place. We’re only a few miles out from where Baisha’s supposed to be, so they’ll probably know where it is. Same story as in Saha - I’m going home for the birth, you’re my bodyguard.”

“Welcome, pilgrim. Very fine day to you,” a saffron-robed nun says at the entrance to the temple gates. She squints at Keris as she approaches - she’s clearly short-sighted. Her accent is thick and matches the local one, and there’s that thing that Orange Blossom noted, that her ‘v’ sounds like a ‘b’. Hence why Keris couldn’t find ‘Baisha’ on the map. “I would not like to be making that climb laden with child as you are. Do you need to sit? Or water?”

“Both, please,” Keris says gratefully. “I saw the temple from below and wanted to pay my respects. It’s beautiful up here.”

“That it is,” she agrees. “The older adepts say that once, before the shah was murdered, people would come from as far away as Malra to offer thanks to Shamsun for her blessings on this world - but the war and the heretics of Illumination strike at the right ways. Few are willing to risk being caught in the fights in the valleys below.”

Perfect. Keris allows her head to tilt in solemn interest. “Is it that bad, then? We managed to slip through unnoticed, but the land seems far more war-torn than I remember. Oh! My apologies. I’m Keris, and this is Kuha. I’m trying to find my home village before...” She lets a hand fall to the curve of her belly. “Well, I felt it best to return to my roots for the birth.”

“I am Kazih - an adept of Shamsun, she who gives light,” she says, leading Keris to some seats next to a shallow pool of water which is tapped from the mountain and spills into the little streams. “Please, do speak if you feel fit.”

Keris sinks into one of the seats gratefully - when she’s not running, the weight on her ankles isn’t comfortable - and accepts an earthenware cup of water. “Is Shamsun the one whose face was carved on the mountain?” she asks idly. “The village we’re looking for is called Baisha. It was hit in an attack about fifteen years ago, but I’ve heard that there are still people living there. If you could point us on our way, we’d be very thankful.”

“You have keen eyes to notice that this mountain was once a face,” Kazih says approvingly. “But no - like her brothers and sisters of the dawn, day, dusk and night, it would be wrong to make an image of her. No, the tales say that this mountain was once the face of the three-score champions who she made as heroes to fight the demons at the dawn of time.”

((... _huh_.))

“As for Baisha,” she continues, “I was born there myself! It’s just down the mountain. I’m sorry to tell you that you’ve taken a rather longer walk than you needed to. The river from the Lady’s Eye flows through it.” She looks around. “In fact, if you wouldn’t mind,” she says, dropping her voice, “I hate to ask it of you, but could you deliver a letter to my parents if you’re going there? I haven’t heard from them in a while, and I hope they’re fine.”

“Of course,” Keris says, still slightly stunned at the concept of a temple worshipping the Solars. She’d known, intellectually, that the Dragonblooded and the Immaculates couldn’t possibly be _everywhere_ , but... well, she’d sort of got into the habit of thinking that Exalts who weren’t of the Dragons were feared or hated anywhere except the borders of Creation. It’s a bit of a mental gear shift. “I’d... I’d be happy to,” she stutters. “Who, uh. Who should I deliver it to?”

((Oh, no, that’s not what she says. They’re not worshipping the Solars, oh no. This is just a temple devoted to one of the solar deities, the sun goddess, who chose 60 heroes like her four brothers and sisters at the start of time.))  
((Yes, but Keris is aware that they’re still worshipping a legend _derived_ from the Solars, and that’s shocking enough for her.))  
((She’s a bit of a paranoid coward about the Immaculates - heh, in some ways, while Sasi has adapted to “I’m an Anathema” by going “so it’s _right_ that the Yozis should rule the world” etc, Keris appears to have shrugged it off but has actually sort of adopted an attitude of “so most of the world is against me”.))  
((Sigh. She absorbed more of the anti-Immaculate propaganda than she thought, it’s just that her Rathanite traits mean she’s shifted the blame and framed herself as a martyr.))  
((Heh. Well, I’ve been entirely clear that Taira isn’t Immaculate lands.))  
((Oh, sure. I kind of figured that there would be sun-worship and stuff here. It’s just a shock for Keris.))

“My mother is also called Kazih - she lives in the house with the red door near the south gate,” this Kazih says. “She’s the one you should give it to - my father can’t read.”

Keris nods a little dumbly, and feels Kuha looking at her in concern. Her owlrider hustles her out of the manse after a fairly short rest, and Keris numbly shares the reason for her shock as the head back down the mountain and along the path of the river.

“Why is that a surprise?” Kuha asks flatly. “My people were led to the north by a hero who married the moon. This place is a lot hotter, so obviously it’s the sun who liked them.”

“Yeah, I just...” Keris says, her feet skidding across the burbling water of the river. “Your people are out on the very edges of Creation; you’d never even heard of the Realm. Taira’s practically part of the Scavenger Lands. There are Lookshyians here. And they’re worshipping Solars in all but name... I thought most of the Inner Threshold was against the Anathema.”

“Didn’t you say you met a pair of sun-brides who were walking around your Nexus openly?” Kuha asks with a shrug.

“Not openly,” Keris denies. “Hell, Mistress... Adi? Ani? Whatever her name was; she was pretending to be a two-bit thaumaturge. Keeping her head low, like I do. The only blatant Exalt I’ve seen in the Scavenger Lands was Prince Moron; Illana’s mentor. The one who got himself stabbed to death by three Dragonblooded.”

“The one who had a demon-god attack a boat full of important people? Didn’t you say he was stupid?”

“He was very, very stupid,” Keris agrees. “Okay, here we come.” She lets herself slide to the edge of the river and come to a halt, resuming at a normal walking pace on solid ground. “Out of my hair, come on. I think... I think this is it.”

Kuha hops down. She looks around with an expression of mild disgust. “I hate how all the trees here are so tiny,” she mutters.

Between the two of them, they follow the lazy and winding road made of old stone that leads to a small walled down. It’s nothing compared to the Lookshyian fortress. The walls here are barely a storey high, and are made of earth mounds which have had stones pushed into them.

There are people at the gates, though, and they don’t look like locals. They’re wearing hardy leathers, but they bedeck themselves in brightly coloured scarves and trinkets. On their heads, they wear both headscarves and over the top of that, broad-brimmed hats. Keris saw their like back in Terema - mercenaries from the Vakotan lands to the north. There’s a few at the gate, sitting there and smoking long-necked pipes while another plays with her dog. Nothing much is going on.

Eyes narrowed, Keris looks them over. “Be ready for some roughhousing, Kuha. Just in case.”

The two of them approach the town walls. They make an interesting pair - Keris, heavily pregnant in a modest red travelling dress with Kerisa’s travelling box under one arm, and Kuha, playing the part of the wary bodyguard to perfection. Keris’s eyes flicker over the town almost non-stop, searching for anything to spark her memory.

She’s stopped by the woman with the dog. It’s a long-limbed, lanky thing - some kind of courser like a greyhound. “What’s yer purpose here?” she asks, her Vakotan drawl slovenly to Keris’ ears. She sounds a little bit like some of the Makurans Keris met in Nexus.

“I was born here,” Keris says, with impressive calm. “I’m returning for the birth. This is Baisha. My home.”

She spits tobacco on the ground. “Entry tax. Quarter-dinar.”

((... she is lucky that it’s been a week at Orange Blossom’s place and Keris is over the Yozi Sickness.))  
((She is unlucky, however, that Keris just rolled Temperance and botched.))

Keris lets out a harsh bark of laughter. “Yeah, no. This is my home. I’m not paying to walk through these gates again after more than fifteen years. Move, or be moved.”

((Per + Pres, -5 external penalty for being tiny, visibly heavily pregnant, and not obviously armed.))  
((Oh, this is going to be fun. Mundane for the moment, heh. Keris isn’t bothering to _make_ her believe yet. 3+5+2 stunt=10.))  
((...))  
((... 9 successes.))  
((wtf keris))  
((that’s 4 sux even with the penalty))

The Vakotan woman, who towers head and shoulders above Keris, takes a step back, and whispers something in her native tongue. Keris can’t understand it. One of the men comes over to see what the fuss is about, and there’s a rapid exchange of words between them.

“You. Go through,” the woman says. “But only because the gods said that a pregnant woman with scorpion for hair must be avoided. When the gods say something else, things will be different.”

Keris raises an eyebrow, but moves past them and motions Kuha to follow with a stately nod. There’s a certain amount of disappointment from the owlrider, who’d been under the impression that either she or Keris were going to break some heads.

((Keris’ hair was making scorpion braids without her thinking.))  
((: D))  
((Interesting that apparently a god of some sort got wind that she was coming - or possibly Orange Blossom sent word.))  
((Or just someone had a dream that they’re interpreting to mean Keris.))  
((Heh. True.))

The wall isn’t marking out much. There are fields outside the walls, but there are also fields inside the walls. In fact, as Keris gets her first sign of Baisha, the first thought she has is that the town used to be bigger. There are a few hundred people in here, between the white-washed clay brick houses and the brightly painted wagons - but there are plenty of burned out shells of buildings and some of them are in the middle of what are now fields. It’s not so much a town as a village inside old walls.

Her hair lashes behind her like a many-tailed cat as she takes in the burnt-out buildings. Kuha eyes it warily; experienced enough with her mistress to recognise _that_ behaviour for the warning sign it is.

“Red door, south gate,” Keris growls. “We may as well drop Kazih’s letter off first. And then...” Her gaze cuts towards the river, then sweeps the town. “I want to see if I can find the village forge.”

There’s a woman working the fields by the house with the red door. She has a battered, bruised face, which isn’t properly hidden by her purple veil.

“... Kazih?” Keris hazards.

The woman nods. “Yes. Who’s asking?” Her accent is, if anything, even thicker than her daughter’s.

“My name is Keris. I’m a pilgrim - I came past the temple of Shamsun in the mountains on my way here. I have a letter from your daughter?”

“Ah!” The woman unhooks her veil, to peer better at Keris. “From Kazih? Thank goodness. Has her temple at least been spared these pigs?”

“It seemed fine when we passed through earlier today,” Keris reassures her. “But she was worried about you. Who did that to you? Those drawling thugs at the gate?”

The old woman swallows. “My husband, he got drunk, insulted them, tried to fight one. They ran him through, and left his body in the street. Then they came here and beat me too. They said he’d died too quick.”

Keris...

Keris feels something very hot, and dark, and vicious flicker to life inside her.

“Kerishyra,” Kuha yelps, ducking out of the way just in time. “Your hair!”

She blinks, and checks. It’s rearing up in scorpion braids again - like it must have been at the gate. She snarls, and forces it down. “How long have they been here?” she demands of the woman. “What are they doing; just sitting on the town and bleeding it for money?” A thought occurs to her, and the fire turns ice-cold. “Are they dealing with slaver-bands?”

“It is the Season of Air,” Kazih says, voice bitter. “Our Beik lords,” there is mocking sarcasm in her tone, “keep their soldiers and their mercenaries in these places when it is too cold to campaign. They say it is for our defence, but they eat our food and don’t do a thing to help. Especially these Vakotan bastards. Used to be, the mercenaries and soldiers knew how to farm. They helped us with preparing the fields for next year and they grew their own kitchen gardens. These horse-lovers think the only fit use for fields is for grazing.”

Keris cracks her knuckles. “I _see_.” She motions to the woman to lead them inside. “Then here’s what’s going to happen. First, I’m going to heal your face. Then we’re going to take a trip back to the gates, and get rid of the leeches on the town’s sides. And then you’re going to help me find the house I was born in.”

“Kerishyra is godstouched,” Kuha contributes helpfully. She’s grinning.

“Kerishyra is _angry_ ,” Keris corrects her. ‘Calesco,’ she continues internally. ‘If you have any objections to the second part of that plan, now would be the time to voice them, because I am not feeling in a very forgiving mood towards parasite mercenaries who bleed a town dry and stab its old men to death before beating their wives.’

“Please, no!” Kazih says, grabbing Keris’ sleeve. “No, please, we don’t need any more trouble.” She looks Keris up and down. “It might be different for you lordly folk, but we’re just trying to survive. If they get angry, they’ll just take it out on us. If you’re looking for someone or a place, please, I can show you where you need to go!”

“They can’t get angry if they’re all dead,” Keris says with dangerous calm. This does not seem to calm the woman down much, and she sighs. “At least let me heal you. Those bruises must hurt.”

“If you can help, thank you,” the woman says. Keris is thinking of her as an old woman, but when she thinks again, she’s probably only in her fifties. Her skin though is leathery and her hair is greying.

Keris tells her to close her eyes while she works on the bruising, and slips her root-tendrils into the woman’s flesh. She closes blood vessels, coaxes a fractured cheekbone back together and siphons up the blood that’s spread under the skin from burst capillaries to form ugly marks. It takes her quarter of an hour, but she knits the broken tissues together and re-attaches the chipped bones around her eye socket. The woman opens her eyes when Keris lets her, and gingerly feels her face. “It’s better,” she says, sounding shocked.

Keris smiles pleasantly at her. “You’re welcome. Now. I was born in this town, about twenty years ago. My father was the blacksmith. Is the village forge still in the same place it was then?”

Kazih’s mouth drops open, and she blinks several times. “You’re Kallash’s little girl?” she asks in shocked disbelief. “And Maryam’s? Yes, yes, you have his eyes, and your skin, it is darker, like hers!”

The names hit Keris like a gutpunch, and she draws in a sharp breath. “Y-yes, I’m... I’m Keris. I got taken in... in the raid, fifteen years ago. I thought the town was gone, completely - I only found out it wasn’t a few months ago. Are they still...?”

“Neither hair nor hide of them,” Kazih says, shaking her head. “Nor any of the others who were taken, not even my Iza. Not until you, at least. Everyone thought they were sold to Huzza because you never hear of what happens to slaves they buy. You say you weren’t taken there?”

“Nexus,” Keris growls. “Two months by boat up the Grey River from Terema, and there to the house of,” she pauses to spit, “a Guild woman; Makoa Kasseni.” She smiles savagely. “She’s dead now.”

She takes a breath, and pushes her hair down again - it’s twisting itself into knots and coiling around one of Kuha’s wrists, where her companion is petting it. “Could... could you show me the house I was born in?”

The woman nods, and puts her purple mourning veil back on. “You might’ve been better to stay in Nexus than come back to Taira,” she says, walking through the unpaved streets of the mountain town. “People get rich in Nexus. There’s only war here. Not a place for children.” She glances down at Keris’ belly. “Where’s the father?” she asks bluntly.

“Dead,” says Keris sadly. “There’s nothing for them from his past, so... I thought I’d come and find mine. When I found out Baisha still existed, I decided not to wait for the birth. I was half-hoping I’d find my parents here...” Her face wavers for a moment, then firms. “But they’re not. So I suppose I’ll just have to track them down.”

By now, they’re right next to the river that runs through the town, forming one ‘wall’. It’s the same river that comes out of the eye of the wrecked mountainface above. And the forge is right next to it, a clay brick building with a broken water wheel.

The water-wheel. Yes. Keris remembers that. It grinded away at night, a noise that wasn’t a noise when you’d learned to ignore it.

There’s a man in a workshop out front, next to a glowing forge. He’s darker skinned than most of the people here, with brown hair and a trimmed beard. His shoulders and upper body are heavily developed, and he’s beating away at an iron horse-shoe which glows cherry red. He’s wearing an eyepatch, but his other eye is a pale grey.

He looks up when he notices Kazih. “Are you coming about the plough?” he asks. “I know, I know, I meant to get started on it again, but they’re demanding more shoes for their horses.”

“It’s not about that,” Kazih says, stepping in. She drags Keris forwards. “This woman says she’s your sister.”

He drops his hammer.

Keris almost drops with it. Kazih hadn’t mentioned _this!_ But... searching his face, his _eye_...

“... Ali?” she whispers. He jolts; muscles twitching like he’s not sure whether to believe and move forward or deny and back away.

“... you were older than me,” she murmurs. “Papa would... I remember him shouting at me in the forge for wandering in there, and carrying me out, and giving me to you to keep an eye on.”

A careful step forward, towards him. “You’d complain when you had to watch me... there was a girl you wanted to run around with instead. A cousin, or... or a friend, and you’d always bicker, but when you fell out of a tree and hurt your leg she was the first one to go running to help you...”

She looks at him; at the powerful muscles of his shoulders and back, and remembers a giant of a man lit by the red of the forge, pale-skinned but towering over his tiny daughter as he scolded her for being where it was dangerous for a little girl.

“You’re built like Papa,” she whispers. “You look like him, now.”

“He’s pretty cool,” Vali opines in her head.

Ali takes a step forwards. “Keris,” he says, voice cracking. “No. But... your hair wasn’t red. But... you... you remember me and... me and Zanyira. W-we’re married now.”

Keris lifts a hair tendril. “Spirit place,” she says, small and shallow. “Two years ago. It’s not the worst change in the world. I thought...” Her own voice cracks. “I thought the whole town was gone. I only found out it wasn’t a couple of months ago... Makers, you’re _real_. You’re my _brother_.”

And then she’s laughing, and also sort of sobbing; lunging forward to wrap her arms around him. A fair amount of her hair goes, too, and she spares a moment for a spike of frustration as she has to awkwardly manoeuvre her stupid fat fatness around so she can hug him as close as possible.

“I don’t know what to say,” he says, fumbling as he pulls off his eyepatch to reveal that he’s got a second, perfectly fine eye under there, that is also crying. “You don’t speak properly. Where’ve you been? You sound like a trader from way up north I once met.”

Keris can’t answer for a few minutes, on account of being a crying wreck, but after Kazih and Kuha take charge and usher the siblings inside, she manages to sit and calm down a bit.

“I got taken to Nexus,” she explains. “Upriver - far, far up the Grey River - and a Guild factor bought me as a house-slave. I was there for a couple of years before I got out and onto the streets, but by then... I was too little to remember where I’d come from, and... the last thing I saw was it burning. It was easier to forget - it hurt less. Getting back here... it was a painful road, remembering.”

“Damn,” he growls, violently wiping his eyes. “Damn damn damn. And you’re nearly giving birth. You need to rest. Zanyira!”

A woman comes out, dragging a toddler who’s tied to her apron strings. She’s paler than he is, with green eyes and very light brown hair. “What is it?” she asks.

“Zany, this is... this is Keris.”

“That’s... that’s not possible.”

“It is! She remembered you! And me! And she’s got the same eyes as me and...” he takes a deep breath. “Take care of her and her servant. She needs somewhere to lie down and can’t do anything because she’s been travelling while pregnant and...”

“Hush. Don’t be like that.” Zanyira seems slightly exasperated. “He got like that when I was pregnant,” she says to Keris, rolling her eyes. “He’s hopeless. All that muscle and he doesn’t understand how some of us can carry a babe for nine months.”

Keris responds with a watery giggle. Her face hurts a little from how hard she’s smiling, and her eyes sting. “It has been a long way, though,” she sniffs. “I remember you, a little. I’m glad you stopped bickering with Ali long enough to find happiness together. And is this my nephew?”

((Christ, that toddler has the world’s most terrifying auntie.))

“Your niece,” Zanyira says, sounding slightly hurt. “She’s a girl. This is Hanilyia. She’s named for our grandmother. The raiders killed her too. Say hello to your Aunt Keris, Hanilyia.”

“‘lo,” the little blonde-streaked girl says, burrowing her head in her mother’s skirts.

“Surely you can do better than that. You really don’t have to be shy. Come on. Oh well, maybe she’ll open up to you later. Come on then. You and...” she pauses, looking at Kuha.

“Kuha. I guard her body.”

She looks slightly peculiarly at the tiny woman who says it, but leads them inside into the house adjoining the forge. It’s a simple dwelling of a few rooms. She sits Keris down on cushions on a rug, helping her smooth her skirts down, and carefully unfastens Hanilyia. “Can you watch her for a moment? I’ll be able to put away my weaving faster if I don’t have her trying to pull at things.”

((... you bastard. _Hanilyia?_ ))  
((You speak as if that’s any different from Ali and Zanyira.))  
((Keris named her children after what she subconsciously remembered of the names of her grandmother, brother and cousin. :p ))  
(( _Argh_ ))

Keris takes the toddler with a sort of fragile awe, cradling her in her hair.

“Hello,” she whispers. “Your name is Hanilyia? I know someone who’d say that was the _best_ name.”

Hanilyia looks up at her with big grey eyes, thoughtfully chewing on her scarf. “Your hair is funny,” she informs Keris.

“I know,” Keris says, a goofy grin on her face. “Do you want to know a secret? It’s _magic_. It went all red and started moving like my hands when I slept in a spirit place. So I can do this!” She picks the little girl up in a hair-cradle, letting her float in the air as if flying.

Hanilyia finds this hilarious and is giggling loudly by the time her mother comes back.

This has the small disadvantage that her mother comes back in to find her daughter being manhandled by a mass of blood red hair. And screams. Loudly.

“It’s okay, it’s okay!” Keris deposits the toddler back on her lap and sweeps her hair behind her, coiling it back into a quick-and-dirty dreadlock-braid. “Sorry. My hair turned like this two years ago when I slept in a spirit-place. I’m so used to it now, I sometimes forget other people aren’t. She was as safe as she’d have been in my arms, I promise.”

Zanyira clutches at her chest, breathing heavily. “If you’re going to do things like that, _please tell me_ ,” she says weakly. “I get faint sometimes and... oh dear.” She staggers over to the cushions and sits down. “Just a little dizzy.”

Keris’ brother comes running, hammer in hand. “What’s happening? Someone screamed.”

“Just... just had a surprise. Feeling a bit weak,” Zanyira says.

“Oh no. Can you look after her?” Ali asks Keris. “She gets these headaches and sometimes faints if she’s surprised. She’ll probably be alright in an hour or so.”

“Of course,” says Keris. “I’ve picked up some healing knowledge along the way, I might be able to help.”

((Okay, 10 minute diagnosis, Reaction + Occult, Diff 3, -1 external penalty from having a curious toddler in the area who also has to be watched.))

Keris keeps a loop of hair wrapped around Hanilyia’s waist - which still gives her a fairly wide space to toddle around in - as she listens to Zanyira’s breathing, checks her pulse, asks a few questions about her dizzy spells and slips a surreptitious root-tendril or two past her skin to taste her blood. Kuha has to take over the toddler-wrangling and keep Hanilyia back as Keris grows more absorbed in the investigation, crouching beside her sister-in-law and checking her vitals as indirectly as possible.

It would be a lot easier if she could just plunge her root-tendrils into the woman’s chest and check from the inside. But that would probably inspire more screaming.

The slight murmur in her heart is what clues Keris in. The flow of blood isn’t quite right. And then there’s her pattern of tiredness, how almost any kind of exercise leaves her ill and weak, how it took a literal miracle that a nun from the temple was down in the valley when she gave birth and that she still nearly died.

Keris’ sister-in-law and cousin has a hole in her heart. A small one, between the left and right atria, the bits at the top which receive blood from the rest of the body and pass it to the ventricles which pump it around. It means her life essence doesn’t circulate properly, and it gets worse the harder it has to pump. There are worse cases Keris has read about in the libraries of Hell, too, where damage to the human heart can lead to the po that dwells within sitting uneasily in the body.

((This is Crippling, right? How hard will it be for Keris to fix?))  
((So, this will require internal surgery to fix. As per the core, that’s at least Diff 5 and could be more the more complex it is.))  
((Hmm. Keris can probably manage that, especially if she’s focused.))  
((She can also do it without dealing health levels.))  
((On the other hand, she does have FWT, which means “Enhanced medical procedures inflict no health level damage, and carry no chance of infection.” which is... yes, quite.))  
((Oh, has Kazih gone back to her home?))  
((Yes, she did, very relieved that Keris seemed to have got distracted.))

Sitting back on her heels, Keris licks her lips. “Kuha,” she says. “Could you take Hanilyia out of the room and occupy her for a little while? Teach her how to say a few things in Woodtongue; she might like that.”

She waits for the toddler to be shown out before continuing.

“I am a very good healer,” she tells Zanyira; low and serious. “It wasn’t something I aimed to do, but... well, circumstances led to me picking it up, and I had some pressing reasons to get a lot better at it very quickly. Kuha was crippled when I met her. I saved her life and gave her back the ability to walk. It’s why she follows me.

“I’m telling you this so that you know that you have a very good chance of coming out of this healthy and in better shape than ever. Do you want me to explain what’s causing your dizzy spells, or just fix it?”

“What’s wrong with me?” she asks softly. “I... it didn’t use to be this bad. I just got tired easily as a child. But it’s got worse and worse as I get older.”

Keris swallows. “You have a hole in your heart. It’s very small, between the two halves that send blood around your body. It means the flow of blood and life force around your body isn’t moving like it should. The harder your heart pumps, the worse it gets. And I think the hole has probably grown larger as you’ve grown - stay calm, stay calm. I told you, I am very, very good at this.”

She pauses. “I told you my hair came from a spirit place. It’s not the only magic I can do. Most doctors would need to cut you open to fix this - I don’t. If I close up the hole, you should get better over the next few weeks as energy passes through your chakras and your blood flow settles back into its proper direction.”

Inwardly, Keris can’t help but frown. Lilunu’s acupuncture would be able to flush out the disturbed life force and help realign Zanyira’s body and spirit immediately. She’ll have to learn when she next goes back to Hell. Outwardly, she puts on an encouraging smile. “Trust me; Kuha was in much worse shape than you when I came across her, and now she’s impossible to keep down. Do you want to tell Ali? Given how he handles pregnancy...” It’s a weak joke, but it’s better than nothing.

“I... I’ll need to... I’ll need to talk to him and... and...” Her heartbeat is speeding up, and she’s swaying where she sits. Of course the fear of the news is just making her worse-off.

“Oh no,” Calesco says, a little hitch in her voice. “Imagine how bad the past years have been for her. Especially with those awful _bullies_ who clearly swagger around like they own the place.”

“Hey.” Keris shuffles a little closer and settles an arm around Zany’s shoulders. “It’s okay. You’re going to be fine, I promise. I _swear_ to you, Zany, I _will_ fix this. Kuha can tell you; I have saved lives in worse situations than this, and people who were much closer to slipping away than you are right now. You are _not_ going to die, and a few years from now you’ll look back with nothing more than a sigh of relief that I came here when I did.”

“What are you?” she sobs at Keris, even as her breath slows. “This... this feels like something out of a tale. Long-lost cousins don’t come back after twenty years with magic hair and then tell you they can cure you.”

Keris has to concede that point. “You’re right; it sounds ridiculous. But the whole story is hard to believe and... honestly kind of terrifying in places. So if you don’t mind, I think it might be better to heal you first, and then explain. Can you wait a day or two for me to come clean?”

“I... I think I’ll need to think about it. And you’ll need to talk with Ali and so will I and maybe you’ll tell him everything and he can tell me what he thinks I need to know,” she says weakly. “I d-don’t want to be a burden, but if you can help me to bed, I think I want to sleep now. Please look after Hany for the rest of the day, if you can.”

Keris is a little tempted to just knock her out and do the surgery there and then. But... urgh, choices are important. And she doesn’t really want to do that to her cousin.

“That sounds like a good idea,” she says. “Here, put your arm over my shoulders... that’s it. Now show me which way your bed is. It’s been a while since I’ve been here.”

She’s asleep for most of the rest of the day. Keris spends much of it playing with her cousin and feeding her, which... in its own way, is actually very reassuring given how well she gets on with Keris. She’s a little, human child. Not a demon. Just a three year old with a habit of saying the first thing that comes to mind and who really is far too fond of sticking things in her mouth that she finds.

... honestly, she has _that_ at least in common with Haneyl.

Once she’s put to bed, Keris goes to find her brother. He’s still in the forge, and he looks exhausted.

“Sorry I haven’t been able to help more,” he says, wiping his soot-streaked forehead. “But the Vakotans are pushing for more and more things done. Their own smith is some heathen priest as well, and so I’m fit for all the things he doesn’t want to do. Did you want to say something?”

“It’s fine,” Keris says absently. “If they come around again, just yell for me and I’ll take care of them.”

Inwardly, her mind is coiling round the problem she’s spent the day thinking about. Disclosure. ‘Dulmea?’ she asks. ‘I know you don’t like me revealing my nature, but... this is my brother. And his family. I don’t...’

She pauses and examines the idea she’s been tossing around for the thirtieth time, but yup, it’s definitely still the same one that popped into her head when Zany broke down on her. ‘I don’t... want... to lie to them. About what I am. Yelm, Shan and Piu all know. Will you be angry if I explain?’

((Oh Keris. Absentmindedly forgetting that your brother probably won’t believe you’re capable of running off a bunch of mercenaries.))

“The Law of Cecelyne says that only the servants of the Yozis may know of you, and among those, only those whose purposes and duties rely on it,” Dulmea says.

“The Law of Cecelyne can go eat a poop sandwich,” Vali butts in. “It doesn’t get to tell you what to do. ‘Specially since we’re not even in Hell, so there!”

“Yeah,” Rathan agrees. “It’s not like anything you’d be doing is actually wrong. You’ve got a good reason for doing it.”

“Get out of here, you brats,” Dulmea snaps. There’s the sound of something breaking. “This is not for you to mess around with.”

Ali is entirely deaf to the mental noise of what may possibly be Dulmea chasing the children around with a broom. He puts a bar of iron back in his forge, and leaves it there, scooping out water from a barrel to drink it. “I’ve been so busy today that I haven’t been really able to talk to you, and that’s my fault,” he says. “This was a bad time for you to return. If you’d only come in Wood, there weren’t the Vakotans ruining the place and trampling the saffron fields. But then they showed up and when Uncle Xasan tried to stand up to them they cut off his hand and...” he shook his head. “Bad times.”

Keris’s expression has become a glower, and her hair is twitching again. “Sounds like a good time to arrive, as far as I’m concerned,” she growls. “It sounds like someone should put them back in their- no.” She shakes her head. “Not the thing I came to talk about. Listen, Ali. Sit down. And... actually, let me make you some calming tea. I have something to tell you that you’re not going to like.”

“Have you already angered them?” he asks, paling. “Oh no. What happened to Uncle Xasan was bad enough.” He pauses. “You do remember him, right? Although maybe you don’t. He wasn’t around much when you were little. Well, he’s a big man, came with Mother from her homeland, and they just grabbed him and made an example of him because he was the kalantar. We’re not dealing with normal people here. They’re northern horse-barbarians!”

“I haven’t angered them,” Keris reassures him. “Might have scared them a bit at the gates, but they let me through without demanding money. No... hold on.” She ducks inside for a moment, and comes back out with a cup of tea, courtesy of Dulmea. “Here. Drink. Everything is going to be fine, but I don’t want you fainting on me before I’m finished explaining. It’s about Zany.”

He pulls up a slightly scorched wooden stool, and passes another to Keris, and together they sit in front of the forge in the cool night air, heat on one side.

“Do you ever work in metal?” he asks Keris. “Do you take after Father there? Actually, what do you do in Nexus? You have to be doing well to get your own mercenary, even if she is a little thing.” Keris gets the feeling he’s trying to dodge the topic.

“I moved on from Nexus a couple of years ago,” Keris says. “And I do a lot of things. One of them is healing. When I met Kuha, she’d broken both her ankles, and she had one foot in the grave from the drugs her people use.” She grins. “They tame giant birds, Ali - great owls - and ride on their backs to scout and hunt from the skies. It’s amazing to watch.”

She sighs. “That’s why she’s so small. The drugs they fed her and the other owlriders; they kept them small, but they had side effects. Brittle bones. Weak hearts. Liver toxins that would kill them young, if so many of them didn’t die of falls before they even grew that old. That’s what happened to Kuha - she was lucky to survive the fall that broke her ankles, and she was half-suicidal over not being able to fly again.

“I looked at her, and I couldn’t just... not do anything. I’d picked up a bit of healing before then, and I learned more, and I... fixed her. She can walk again. She’s stronger, her heart isn’t weak anymore. It’s why she follows me and calls me ‘Kerishyra’ now. I saved her life.”

She looks at him steadily. “I know it sounds unbelievable. But I am, honestly, a very, very good medic. I took a look at Zany. I know what’s causing her dizzy spells. I swear to you; I can cure her.”

Ali stiffens up, then slumps down. “I don’t know,” he says weakly. “I... I talked to the priests, they said there was something wrong with her chakra flow, that there was no way to cure it and all we could do was try to keep her comfortable and calm and pray that Hany wouldn’t inherit the same fault in her chakras. She’s our cousin, so they said it was more dangerous. Your children might be at risk of it too.”

“The priests can’t cure it,” Keris says with ironclad certainty, “because they’re limited to human tools. I’m not. I can. I _swear_ to you, Ali. I would not make this offer if I wasn’t sure. I can tell you exactly what’s wrong with her chakra flow, and I can tell you exactly how I can fix it. How I _will_ fix it.”

“Hmmm.” And that’s a very calculating noise even from his slumped over form, like Calesco when she’s judging Keris. He looks up. “What kind of spirits did you make pacts with?” Keris’ expression must have shifted in the flickering firelight, because he glowers. “Don’t treat me like a fool. We’re blacksmiths, and Uncle Xasan says that he and mother had a hint of blood from the gods. You _feel_ a bit like a spirit. You’re just more _there_ than any other kind of human.”

Looking down, Keris huffs a humourless laugh. “I don’t remember you being this sharp,” she admits. “Well, at least now you know why I’m not worried about the Vakotans.”

She sighs. “It’s a long story, Ali. I don’t think I’ve told anyone the whole thing - well, one person. One spirit. And that was more than a year ago. If I’m going to tell you, I’m going to tell you all of it, and it’s a fair while before it gets any better than Baisha burning in the distance as I was carted off by slavers. Are you sure you want to hear the whole thing? I refused to tell Zany because it would stress her heart, but... you’re my brother.” She shifts uneasily on her scorched seat, and shifts it a little closer to the forge. “If you really want me to tell you, I will.”

“No, you...” begins Dulmea. Then she cuts off.

“We’re all behind you, mother,” Calesco says. “ _All_ of us. Well, apart from Haneyl, but she’s not here so she doesn’t get a say. Eko, me, Vali, Rathan and Zanara.”

“We decided he’s cool,” Vali says.

“And a boy,” Rathan adds. “But that goes without saying.”

Eko’s shrug clearly indicates that she thinks things’ll be more fun this way.

Zanara simply smiles, showing sharp teeth. “I don’t care either way,” they say in their little boy voice. “But when I think like girl-me I-she is fully in favour.”

Back in reality, Ali is shifting in his seat, wringing sweat-slick hands together. Finally, he looks up and catches Keris’ eye. “Go on,” he says.


	2. Chapter 2

The air is crisp on one side of Keris’ face; the heat of the fire is warm on the other. The waning moon is hanging over the mountains. The smouldering of the forge and the ping of the cooling metal.

And her brother’s statement. She could swear that the echoes of that are bouncing off the mountains. ‘Go on’, he said.

She takes a slow breath.

“I don’t remember much about the raid,” she begins. “Just the sight of Baisha burning in the distance, a flag I saw while I was on the boat... for a long time that was it. It was two months down the Grey River, on a cramped, hot, hard boat full of other slaves...”

She’s told this tale before. Once. To Tear, almost two years ago, when she was a baby Exalt still finding her feet and a water-dragon manse-guardian felt like an intimidating threat. Nowadays, Keris is a much better storyteller. It spills out of her - once it gets going, it’s hard to stop - and she gives the story life.

She doesn’t stay still, as she tells it. Sometimes she stares blankly into the fire. Sometimes she looks down, or away. Sometimes she gets up and paces; restless and angry, wishing she’d had then the power she has now.

Sometimes she looks him in the eye.

“... stinking alley that backed onto one of the canals, where waste got dumped to get washed down into the water. Nobody else wanted it, so for lack of competition it was mine; shithole that it was. I got lucky, though. I’d been there a few weeks when another kid came through it - shortcut, I think - and I dropped off the wall onto him and held a sharp nail to his ear.” She smiles fondly. “He talked his way out of it - gave me an apple. We wound up friends. Best friends.

“His name was Rat, and he probably saved my life...”

It’s not a quick retelling. Keris doesn’t spare her brother the details of what it was like, growing up in Firewander, and she tries her best not to leave much out about the depths she had to sink to to survive. She takes him through the fevers when she was eight and twelve, Old Calley and her advice and support, her burgeoning relationship with Rat - and his disappearance.

It’s in a low tone that she describes her idiotic attempt at breaking into Kasseni’s home, and how she was caught and dragged to Sentinel’s Hill. How they identified her as an ex-slave. When she comes to the cell she was thrown in and the day and night she spent there, she cuts off for the first time in the story.

Leaning back, she looks up at the sky and sighs.

“And then... and then the demon came.”

((Per + Expression for her storytelling skill. What Emotion/Compulsion is she trying to lay on him with this, if any?))  
((Basically... sympathy. Seeing things from her side. Not _blaming_ her. Supporting her choice.))  
((3+5+2 stunt+4 Be Loved+4 Adorjani ExSux {bad things happen, depredations inspire heroes, crucible of tragedy}=14. Fuck, 4+4=8 sux.))  
((Fuck, that was a _terrible_ roll.))  
((... guess the dice fairies don’t like demons. : (.))

Ali’s face crumples up. It’s a complicated thing to read. He’s clearly not sure if he should be recoiling away or giving Keris a hug.

“And... then what happened?” he asks, voice hoarse. “What have you done with this dark power?”

Keris huddles in on herself, wrapping her hair around her upper body as she takes in his half-flinch and suddenly accelerating heartbeat. She thinks he’s... he’s looking for a reason to believe her. He doesn’t believe that anything that comes from a deal with a demon can be good - but on the other hand, her story has planted seeds where he wants to believe she did it for the right reasons and though she made a mistake, it’s not an irrevocable one.

“Do you mean for them, or for myself?” Keris asks. She rubs at her throat, wishing she had an apple, and continues without waiting for an answer.

“At... at the time, in the cell. I didn’t actually realise she was a demon, at first,” she says, half excuse and half explanation. “And not only because one eye was swollen half shut with bruising. She was just a woman with...” she taps a forelock, “... hair like this, and strange hands that stroked the air and made music. She was gentle and... and _nice_ ; tended to a few of my wounds, told me there were others who were trapped and maimed like that who would give me power if I helped them.

“So I said yes. Obviously. And she... sort of became part of me; remade my body like it was _meant_ to be. I mean, I did not look this good after twelve years on the streets; you’ve heard what it was like. She fixed all of that - my arm, the fever damage... even my eyes. I can see colour now. And then she was just a voice in my head, telling me what they wanted me to do.”

Keeping an ear on her brother and staring into the fire, Keris talks to the forge.

“I went to Hell. I met a few of the demon princes who sent this power out into the world. I... I owe them my life, my health... so much, Ali; even if I didn’t fear them I owe them a lot. There are, uh, maybe three demon princes I do most of my work for. I won’t say their names. One of them just wants... _things_ , basically. It gives gifts, and it wants to be gifted in turn - cults, artifacts, raksha, slaves; anything. I’ve given it a few artifacts and a fae prince I captured. Another one just wants raksha - in vast numbers. The place I met Kuha? That was a mission for him. I attacked a Wyld Zone, killed all the cannibal giants and tooth-golems in it and took their essence back to Hell for his forges.”

She bites her lip. “And the, uh. The last one is pretty young, for a demon prince, and I... basically came to know her through a shared love of art. All she’s asked me for so far is examples of the art of Creation - styles of embroidery, sculpture, painting; anything creative. I do some other work for Hell as a whole... that’s mostly been missions against the Realm’s trade routes and Lookshy.”

A glance shows a lot of tumult on his face at this. “And on my side... one of my, um... my sort of...”

Keris stops, considers, and restarts. “I’m not the only one gifted with power like this. One of the other women like me; she can sort of... reach into someone’s head and find memories. I asked her to go looking for memories of...” she gestures around them, “this. You. Our parents. My home. She dredged up what you all looked at - which _hurt_ , like chisels going into your head - and then a little later she found the names; Baisha and Huzei. I had some servants go over the best maps of the Scavengers Lands I could, but they couldn’t find them, so I just... I tried to make do. Adopted Kuha and fixed her ankles and the way the drugs had poisoned her and the other owlriders. Piu and her brothers were street rats in Nexus who were using me and Rat’s old den when I went back there for revenge on Kasseni - I cured her of pnemonia. Down in the Southwest, where I’m... meant to be working at the moment; there’s a group of outcast misbegotten I set up on an island after giving their priestess her feet back.

“But over Calibration, another of the people like me came up and said ‘I’ve found Baisha. I’ll tell you where it is if you do me a favour’.

“So here I am.”

((Again, Per + Expression for how she explains it, 2 dice stunt.))  
((3+5+2+4 Kimmy ExSux {endlessly giving, self-defined victim, patronage and kindness are real}=10. _That’s_ more like it! 7+4=11 sux.))

“What you’re doing is dangerous. Unsafe,” Ali says, but his voice isn’t as sure as it could be. “Demons once conquered the world, before they were driven back to the darkness from which they came. The great children of the sun who fended off the demons are gone, and... Keris, no. Even if they just want art, it’s probably some part of a cunning plot. And even if they’re working against the bastards of the Realm, they’re still demons...”

“Believe me, I-”

Keris’s voice breaks, and she has to take a moment to breathe. “I do-” she starts again, with no more success.

Very calmly, with tension in every muscle, she gets up. After a moment’s pacing back and forth, she turns to the forge again and forces out, in one rapid stream of words;

“I-don’t-think-they-should-ever-be-let-loose-on-Creation.”

Immediately afterwards, she gasps as if she’s coming up for air after hours underwater. Or... well, maybe that analogy doesn’t fit very well for her, but her limbs are trembling and she’s left weak-kneed from the release of saying it out loud. Licking her lips, she continues shakily. “They’re... jealous gods, and a lot of them are cruel, or if not cruel then... too vast to really understand that normal human lives _matter_ , and if they were set loose it would be... bad. But... _but_.”

She turns around and meets his eye. “I’ve seen Hell, and it’s... it’s hard, in some ways, to know whether it’s a cruel place because there are demons in it, or if demons are like that because of the way the victors of the war made their prison. It’s not a nice place for them, and they’ve been there a very, very, very long time.”

Her eyes mist over. “The power I have; it was held by one of those sun-heroes,” she adds quietly. “Long before me. I remember some of the things he knew - I remember what the eldest sun-heroes were like. Ali, by the end, they were almost as bad as the demons. Too ancient and powerful to care about mortals. I know what I’m doing is dangerous, but... what choice do I have? I owe them, and I fear them, and maybe if I tithe them with beautiful things it’ll distract them from some of their cruelties.”

Ali blinks. “Wait, what?” he says. “Go over it again. The power you have... is something that belonged to one of the champions of the sun gods. But... that’s... no!”

“It got changed,” Keris says tiredly. “Maybe more than once, I... think maybe it belonged to the demon princes originally and the sun - suns - took it from them and... and purified the demonicness out of it or something and made it into sun-champion power that they used to beat the demons back. Then somehow - I don’t know how - it fell back into the hands of the Yozis, and they changed it back.”

She cocks her head; her eyes half-closing. “His name - the one before me - was Yamal Icewind,” she says. Her voice is distant, as if she’s quoting something. “He was a firefighter in his mortal life, and the... sun god of the night? Gifted him with power as he scaled a burning building with his bare hands to rescue the people inside. He was young, by the standards of the sun-champions at the time, and the eldest never listened to his words or those of his wife; who was a champion of the stars herself.”

“A what?” he asks.

Keris shakes her head. “Doesn’t matter. The point is... the _point_ is, I’m here now. I have powers, and yes, they’re demonic, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help you with them. You and Zany. And...” she gulps. “If you don’t want... if you’d rather... if...”

She falls silent, and drags a hand down her face.

“... go sleep on it,” she finishes, instead. “See... see what you think in the morning. I’ll finish up anything you have left to do on the forge - I usually work in silver, but I can probably turn my hand to horseshoes and ploughs. If you trust me enough to try and heal Zany’s heart, I’ll do that tomorrow, and then you can tell her whatever you think she needs to know when frightening her won’t make her faint, and then... we can work out what to do after that.”

((Probably valid for him to see she’s scared to death of being rejected, btw.))  
((She did channel Be Loved, too.))

He crosses his arms on his knees, leaning down, hunched over by the forge. Keris can see all the little imperfections on his face, the weatherings, the hints of grey at his temple - things the power in her smoothed away.

“I don’t know,” he mutters. “I just don’t know.” He looks her in the eye. “Do you know what happened last time a demon came near this place? It looked like a white deer, but it killed four men. We found their half-eaten bodies. In the end, we had to round up people from all the nearby villages to help protect the monks and nuns from the temple. Of course I had to go along. I’m a smith. I can see the spirits. It killed four more men before we managed to trap it in a circle of rowan spears and slay it.”

Keris winces. “Luminata,” she identifies. “Man-eaters. Pyrian breed.” She shudders. “I really hate Pyrian stuff. I have literally never had a good experience with it. Ever. Even Wyldeater was horrible. But... all angyalkae do is play music. That’s what Dulmea was - the one who brought the power to me.” She pauses. “Granted, that’s not all _she_ did in her job before me, but her breed isn’t all that awful.”

((Sasi: “My mind-hands are Pyrian.” Keris: “... oh yeah. Okay, a few good experiences. But only in one area.”))  
((Per + Pres to persuade him that no, Keris is not in league with the luminata and was not at all linked to that))  
((3+5+2 stunt+4 Kimmy ExD=14. 8 sux.))  
((o keris. that phobia of the whispering pyre, lawl))  
((Keris: “Seriously. Fuck SWLiHN. Why is all her stuff awful?”))  
((Keris: “Shut up, Deveh, stop whining.”))

“I... I don’t know enough,” Ali whispers. “I... I want to trust you, but what if it’s all a trick and... and...” he shakes his head. “Uncle Xasan. He might know. He’s seen more of the world and he was kalantar before the bastard Vakotans came. I’ll take you to him tomorrow. Otheriwse,” he adds, as an idea comes to him, “if you’re truly a hero of the sun, even tainted - you’ll be able to show me your god-mark. Where the presence of the gods entered you and took up residence in your mind.”

Keris quirks a tiny smile, and the empty circle on her forehead lights up, bathing the forge in reflected green light. She shivers happily, the motion going all the way down her body and through to the tips of her hair.

“It’s green,” he says dumbly.

“Different sun,” Keris explains with a half-shrug. “The one in Hell is green, so the light is changed. I’d show you my soul-light - that’s mostly red and silver - but it’d attract too much attention. And also wreck your forge.”

“It is said by some that there was a sixth god of the sun, who turned traitor and sided with the demons in the war against them and his colour was green,” Ali says thoughtfully.

Keris nods. “That could well be him. He’s the one I mentioned earlier; the one who wants raksha. And believe this if nothing else about Hell; the demons’ grudge against mankind and Creation is _nothing_ compared to their enmity for the fae. _That_ conflict is far, far older and far more vicious on both sides than any of us. Fae and demons warred before Creation even existed - before there were even years to count their battles.”

Ali seems about to spit, but doesn’t. “Good. Let them fight away from proper people.” He shakes his head, and looks over at the cold iron on his anvil. “It’s late, I’m tired, and there’s still more I need to do. Since this is work for the horse-lovers, I don’t care much if it turns out cursed. If you want to help, it’ll help me get to bed sooner, and in the morning, I’ll take you to Uncle Xasan.”

Instead of answering - though she’s not too happy about doing work for the Vakotans who’ve been treading on her hometown - Keris simply reaches for a bellows and moves to stoke the forge back to full heat once more. With Keris’ help, the work is swiftly done - swift enough, in fact, that Ali pushes on to get more done so he’ll be able to work on some needed things for locals tomorrow.

And with that done, the two of them clean up and he says a cautious goodnight to Keris, under the waning moon.

Keris sleeps. And finds that her soul is a storm-wracked, convoluted mess. Space itself seems to have folded up on itself. The city has shrunk down, collapsing and shedding buildings into the outer layers, while the fog wall has contracted, gobbling up land. Veils of fog drift throughout the land.

“Dulmea didn’t take well the truth that the so-called Unquestionable monsters don’t deserve to be free,” Calesco says, dark glee in her voice as Keris appears on the slopes of the Meadows. The buildings cast out into the land have two fates - those in the valleys are sinking into tar, but those on the higher ground are already being colonised by tar-cherubs under Calesco’s watchful eye.

She turns to face Keris, and gives her a warm, sweet-smelling hug.

“For my part, I’m so, so proud of you,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “This is your world. Our world. And your brother is worth ten Unquestionable. He’s a good man.”

((On top of the existing collapse of her Coadjutor rating, it’s further dropped to 3 because of Keris’ public statement that the Unquestionable don’t deserve to be free. The City has collapsed down, shedding buildings into the near directions, while the Fog Wall has gobbled up the land the Tiger Empire lost. Fog lies heavy even on the city itself.))  
((Shiiiiiit.))  
((Sanctum 3: “A very large sanctum, the size of a villa—approximately 25 rooms. A god may labor for a decade to transform a two-dot sanctum into a three-dot sanctum. Very few gods ever bother to build sanctums rated above three dots.”))  
((So basically the actual area she has is her tower))  
((Yes. Heh. When it expands again, it’ll push the newly-abandoned city out.))  
((... if it expands again. : (.))

“I still owe them,” Keris says mournfully, looking over the damage. “I can’t just... abandon the Reclamation and cut them all loose. Iasestus and Orabilis would devastate Creation if they were freed, but the likes of Lilunu or Jacinct don’t deserve to be left to rot like that. Also, they would all kill me if I did it.”

She sighs. “I’m a creature of two worlds now, I guess,” she says, and turns to survey the Cloud Wall. It’s closer than she can remember it being since her five-day long dream, a full twelve months ago. “And it looks like I’m paying for it.”

Vali is here with Calesco, a grin on his face. “It’s great. The demon bosses can go stick their head in a volcano if they think they can tell you what to do, mum. We just got to be ready to go deal with them if they try to make you do stuff.”

Keris smiles wistfully. Her babies are sweet, and it’s always nice when they’re supporting her instead of arguing against her. “Come here, you two,” she says. “Give me a cuddle to cheer me up. I’ll need to talk to Dulmea at some point and fix this, but... not just yet. That talk was scary, and my heart’s still galloping.”

Calesco and Vali are both smaller than her, and that makes their hugs very nice. She’s soft and warm; he’s even hotter, but bonier and more solid. The two of them seem to get along well, and have ever since they were left in her soul together. They’re the ones who like the Yozis and the demon princes the least, too.

((Hmm. I don’t think I’m up for a confrontation with Dulmea tonight, since it’s liable to be... strifeful.))  
((Keris avoiiiiiid))

“... how bad a temper is is Dulmea in?” Keris asks, after a while. “What’s she doing?”

“Sulking. Playing loud music. Not letting anyone in her tower just ‘cause we sort of dragged her away from the mirror thing and stopped her talking to you ‘cause she would’ve got in the way,” Vali says, nodding.

Keris winces. Yeah, that’s not a mood she wants to walk in on. “I... okay, give her some space and don’t break into the Tower or provoke her,” she sighs. “I’ll talk to her later. Once she’s calmed down, which should give us, oh, a good forty seconds or so of civil conversation before we start yelling again.”

She drops kisses on both foreheads. “I’m glad you two are happy, at least,” she says. “But you know I’m not going to cut ties with Hell completely, right? If nothing else, I’m going to keep killing raksha for them. That’s a win-win bargain; Creation has fewer soul-eating monsters in it and I don’t die horribly from Green Sun Wasting.”

“I don’t like you selling raksha to Hell,” Calesco grumbles. “Killing them because they’re soul-eating monsters is one thing, but they shouldn’t suffer. What if Ligier makes them suffer?”

“I’m pretty sure the ones I killed with Wyld-Eater were in no position to suffer,” Keris points out. “They died when I, you know, smashed them really hard with a giant tetsubo. It just kept their essence from calcifying so I could take them all back. From what I heard inside it, they weren’t in a conscious state - and anyway, he said he just vents them straight into the forge where they burn up into... chaos-stuff.”

She sighs grumpily. “I just wish it wasn’t fucking _Pyrian_. Stupid horrible shrieky wailing creepy crystal thing.”

“So what’re you gonna do in Baisha, mum?” Vali asks. “I mean, obviously you gotta go smash the baddies, but what else?”

“Heal Zany. Fix that water-wheel; the house doesn’t sound right without it and I think it was connected to a drop hammer that he hasn’t been able to use for his work. Kick the Vakotans out. And then...”

Biting her lip, Keris stares off into the foggy middle-distance, not really registering the mezkeruby setting up tar-ponds among the hilltop buildings. “I don’t want to leave them here,” she says at length. “They won’t be safe. I might come back next time and find a burnt-out ruin. Or a story like Kazih’s poor husband. This is a war-torn land, and there are so many thugs in it - kicking the Vakotans out won’t solve anything long-term. But if they don’t _want_ to come with me...”

“Well, you can’t make them leave,” Vali says.

“Yes you can,” Calesco says darkly. “If it’s for their own good.”

Things degenerate into squabbling.

Keris gets out of it by waking early - a little earlier than she’d like, to be honest, but if she’s up, she’s up. She strolls outside and takes a look at the waterwheel to confirm her suspicions. Mmm, Keris thinks after poking around and examining it. The water wheel must have been wrecked when this house was burned, back when she was taken as a slave. Once this was part of a system that drove a mechanical hammer. Keris’ forefathers must have been well-off to have something like this. But now the water channel that drove the wheel is blocked, the wheel is just a wrecked and rotten frame, and someone - probably Ali - has salvaged what he could from the mechanisms. She thinks she saw some of the bits repurposed for tools in his hand-driven forge.

It’d take a lot of work to fix. Enough that she’d basically be building a new system from scratch. But she could probably do it, though it might take weeks, even a season.

Keris is still poking around when Ali blearily emerges from their bedroom, carrying a sleeping child. “Oh, you’re awake already,” he says. “Zany is still tired, but it’s time for dawn prayer.”

“Mm,” she says. “I’ve been up for half an hour or so, looking at this drop hammer. It’s... fixable, but not quickly.” She prods a timber and sighs as her finger goes an inch deep into the rotten wood with little to no resistance.

He sighs. “They say our great-grandfather was the younger son and travelled widely before his brother died. He came back with the idea for this, and built it himself. I was never able to fix it when I moved back here.”

“I could.” Keris looks it over, thumps part of the metal frame and nods. “Champion-boosted skill would do it. It wouldn’t be fast, though. Weeks, maybe a month - and that’s if I use my powers to work faster than any mortal can.” She turns to him. “Have you thought over my offer to Zany?”

“I have, and... I still want to introduce you to Uncle Xasan first. He might know what to do. Might have seen someone like you.” He looks back at her. “Are you coming to temple?”

Keris’s mouth twists in a mirthless smile. “I’ll come if you want, but I’m not sure how welcome I’ll be there.”

The temple in Baisha was clearly once much grander, and was burned and patched up - once during the raid when Keris was taken, and again more recently. The sandstone is worn and it could do with another wash.

Keris is handed Hany, and told to take her through the women’s section. She doesn’t really know what to do, but just copies what she hears the others do, washing herself in icy-cold water and tying her hair back with a yellow band. The women file into the left, the men to the right, and the elderly priestess with a hacking cough leads them in prayers to the dawn goddess. While Keris has no hope of remembering these ceremonies - she can’t have been much older than Hanilyia the last time she was taken to one - she did a lot of ragtag worship on the streets, and picked up a little about flattering spirits. She mumbles along with the bits she doesn’t know and joins in the parts she can predict; trying not to draw too much attention to herself - either positive or negative.

She is, of course, an excellent actress and though she draws attention as a stranger, she doesn’t draw attention as a real outsider. She’s clearly from the area, after all.

Once the ceremony is done, she meets up with Ali outside and offers him a bright, slightly forced smile. Happily, she didn’t combust or get hit by lightning the instant she stepped into the temple, which is something. Hopefully, he’ll have seen it as an encouraging sign. And that’s pretty much what he seems to be thinking, yes. Almost to the letter. That may have been why he insisted she come along, and the lack of sun-burning is a real asset.

“Come with me,” he said. “We’ll go see Uncle Xasan.”

Uncle Xasan lives in a house which was once larger than the others, before someone burned down one wing and the stables. There’s something off about the way it’s decorated and the style, which makes it stand out.

“Uncle,” Ali says. 

Keris’ maternal uncle is a big man, He was clearly once tall and powerful in his youth, but he’s gone to seed. Except, no, he’s not as fat as he used to be. He’s lost a lot of weight recent, and not through choice. His skin is as dark as chocolate, and his hair is iron grey. On the wall behind him is a broken spear, hung up as decoration, and a tattered hide-covered shield.

“Ali, my boy,” he says. “And who is this?”

Keris’s eyes flicker to his missing hand - the one the Vakotans cut off. Her teeth clench.

“I’m Keris,” she says. “Ali’s sister. Your... niece.”

“Keris?” The old man sits up, coughing. “No. That’s not possible. My niece had brown hair.”

She actually drops her face into her hands in frustration. “Everyone keeps _saying_ that,” she moans. “I _did_ have brown hair. And the eyes and colour, see? My hair changed two years ago. It does this now.” She waves a hair tendril at him.

Xasan thumps himself on the chest. “Ha! I’ve seen stranger things! My niece returning after so long away would be stranger than changed hair!”

“It’s... a little more complicated than that,” Keris says, wincing. “But... yes, I suppose. You’re really my uncle?” She examines him closely, searching for features she shares from his face - the features she must have inherited from her mother. She certainly doesn’t have his height! He’s over two metres tall, and although his ill health and earlier weight gain makes it hard to see, from the trophies on the walls he was probably once thin and wirey - like her, or perhaps even more like Eko. And there’s something about the chin there, and the brow.

Cautiously, she sits down in front of him; heavy and awkward from her slowness.

“Ali wanted me to meet you,” she says, a little shyly. “To see what you made of me.”

“Well, what have you made of yourself?” he asks. “What’s your story?”

Keris is a little briefer than she was the first time round. She still doesn’t skimp on the hardships, but she doesn’t drag it out, either. And when she reaches Dulmea’s offer, she keeps going - describing the benign angyalka and summarising her current position without waiting for his reaction; taking advantage of his shocked silence to finish her piece.

((3+5+2 stunt+4 Be Loved+4 Adorjan ExSux {bad things happen, depredations inspire heroes, crucible of tragedy}=14. 9+4=13 sux.))

“Hmm.” He looks Keris up and down. “Don’t look like a demon to me, and I’ve seen them before. Even seen a demon lord on the battlefield, a great insect thing accompanied by lots of bugs. Scariest day of my life.” He jabs Keris in the chest with his good hand. “You’re not a secret bug demon, are you?”

Ah, yes. His accent, now that it’s sinking in. It touches old bells of nostalgia in Keris. It’s Taira-influenced, yes, but there’s something else in it. Something like that woman who was the leader of the Bloody Lionesses.

“I’m not a bug demon,” she says agreeably, an actual smile slipping onto her face. “If you mean agatae, I try to avoid them. They’re too loud; they hurt my ears. And I think one of Ululaya’s souls is a wasp queen thing, but, uh... she and I don’t get along.”

He’s staring up at Keris, scrutinising her. His left eye has a hint of a cataract forming. “I’ll accept maybe she’s my niece,” he says, eventually. “She’s got something of Maryam about her face. Now, what of my sister? What of your mother?” he asks Keris.

Keris shakes her head. “Wherever she got taken, it wasn’t with me. I didn’t even see her on the boat up to Nexus. But there’s a power or a gift or a spell or _something_ , somewhere, that’ll lead me to wherever she is, if she’s still alive. As soon as I’ve set things right here - healed Zany, fixed up your hand if you want, done whatever needs doing - I’m going after her and Papa. If nothing else, I can just follow the slave routes up the Grey River and kill my way along them until I find a record that tells me where the slaves from that raid were sold.”

He laughs at that. Laughs until he’s nearly crying. Ali seems about to intervene, but he bats him away. “Ah! Now I believe you are my niece,” he says. “You sound just like Maryam when she came up with the damn fool idea to tag along with me when I went east. ‘It’ll be so easy to make our fortunes in Taira’, she said. ‘They’re rich and fat and lazy’. You’re older than she was, but sound just as arrogant.”

“I charged into a wyld zone full of hungry cannibal giants in the northeast!” Keris says, mildly offended. “And murdered them all! I fought an ancient moon-king yidak! And killed it! Barely, but still! I can handle a bunch of fat mortal slavers, even pregnant and without the _Baisha!_ ”

He looks down at her belly. “You look like you’re due inside a month,” he says. “It’d be foolish, even by Maryam’s standards.”

“... a season,” Keris mutters. “Ish. It’s twins. And I can still fight like this! I’m not _that_ much slower than usual, now I’m used to it.”

The brats don’t help by kicking her just as she’s saying that. They seem to deliberately be aiming for her organs, including her bladder.

“You two,” she hisses down at them, and slumps. “Urgh. My children are all some degree of awful.”

“These aren’t your first?” Xasan asks.

She hesitates and wobbles a hand. “Call it... demon magic stuff. I’ve budded souls of my own - like how demon lords are souls of the demon princes. They take the form of my children, and they’re... well, they’re more human than the demons of Hell are, in how they act. I spend time with them when I dream. And I can summon them, lately, though I’ve only done that once.”

She smiles up at Ali. “Calesco and Vali approve of you, by the way. Fourth and fifth of six. She says you’re worth ten Unquestionable, and he likes that you’re a smith. They all supported me telling you everything.”

They just look blank at that.

“You didn’t say you had demonic familiars!” Ali eventually says.

“They’re my _children_ ,” Keris says, warningly. “Not familiars. I don’t... command them, or bind them to serve me, or anything like that. They live in my dreams and play with their friends and bicker with each other, mostly. I’ve only let them out once so far - and only four of them at that; Calesco and Vali would’ve got themselves killed in Hell by trying to fight the demon princes. And then I would’ve murdered whoever killed them. And then the demon princes would have murdered me.”

Calesco sighs in Keris’ head. “I do appreciate your new-found truthfulness, but sometimes - when trying to teach people - simpler lies are easier. Trying to explain how your soul hierarchy works to peasants isn’t going to work out... no, shut up, Eko, you couldn’t explain it to them. You’d just get bored. You’re an awful teacher.”

Groaning, Keris shakes her head. “Fine, call them familiars if you want. But they’re part of me, and they’re my children; accept that as true. It won’t really matter unless or until I track... down...”

A recent memory pops up and waves. Keris pauses.

“... Uncle,” she says, slowing down. “You were grown when the raid happened, not a child who forgot most of it. Who actually raided us? I remember a... green and yellow flag, with crossed axes. But all I remember is seeing it from a boat; I don’t know if they were the raiders or if I just got moved through their lands.”

“Ah. Now that is a long and complicated story,” Xasan says, shifting on his seat. “Ali, run along, boy. And send my best to Zany. This’ll take a long time.”

Before he goes, though, Ali steps outside with Keris. “If you can fix his hand,” he says, softly, “I might be persuaded it’ll be safer with Zany. He can live with only one hand if something goes wrong with your...” he shudders, “demonic pact magic. I don’t want anything going wrong when you’re touching her heart.”

Keris nods absently, already focusing on what Xasan might know. Her uncle pours himself some measure of a strong-smelling spirit - not wine or anything expensive, probably distilled from some kind of local root crop. He gestures for her to sit, inside his messy, poorly maintained house.

“So, the thing you have to understand,” he begins, “I wasn’t kalantar here when the raid happened. Even after the old shah died, I was still in his service. He was a good man. He’d find other uses for us, even once we weren’t as young as we used to be. When your mother took an arrow to the thigh when bandits were after the tax collector we were guarding... well, she basically deserted when she fell for your father, but he didn’t send anyone after her. Times were better then. But then those Southern bastards murdered him. Damn them all. Damn their souls to hell... and no doubt you actually can.”

“I’d rather not sell people to Hell,” Keris says, scowling. “Given my history with being sold. So the shah was murdered - that’s why the current wars are still going, with the shahbanu trying to reclaim control?”

“I reckon they’re fighting because there’s too much bad blood and not many of the naibs want to be paying taxes to the shah no more. Or they want to be shah themselves,” he says bitterly. “Then there’s that damn Illumination sect coming up north. Bunch of naibs have converted, and they’re pushing to stop the worship of the spirits and of the moon - ‘cause she’s a demon, they say - and only worship the sun gods.” He spits on the floor. “I want out of it. I abandoned the imperials when I stopped being paid, and came back to find that my sister’s town had been raided and there was one lonely boy left of the entire family. The rest’d been taken as plunder.”

Keris’s face falls. “So you weren’t here to see who did it?”

“Oh, I made sure to find out who did it,” Xasan said. “If it’d be someone I could get people together to go after, I wanted names and faces. So, fifteen-odd years ago, the mercenaries of Naib Ishmael Beik came up stream to raid this area. They weren’t ruling this place at the time - they were just looking for cash. They just grabbed everything - and everyone - they could, and they timed it for just after the saffron harvest had been taken. Took the whole crop, see.”

He hacks and coughs. “The old naib here crumbled, and the Beiks took over. They stopped pretending to really be naibs - they’re just warlords, but they seized the fortresses so weren’t nothing I could do about it. Ishmael died six years ago, and his brother Agemi took over. He’s smarter than Ishmael was, and doesn’t just raid for cash. He has tax collectors and he uses them to pay these damn mercenaries he puts in the towns to keep them under control. Specially places that might cause trouble. Like we did. ‘Course he put the Vakotans here. I’m a troublemaker, and his tax collectors kept on winding up facedown in a river. I was trying to cost him more than they ever got for my family.”

A mixture of expressions cross Keris’s face - hatred, disappointment, anger, approval. She settles on a hard smirk. “Good for you. I hope you did.” She thinks for a moment more, and cocks her head. “Look, I know I’m pregnant and tiny, but I really am a skilled fighter. Assume for a moment that I _could_ kill every Vakotan in this town, if I set out to. Would you say I should? That sort of thing brings reprisals, and I don’t... I don’t ever want to come back here and find a burnt village and a dead brother and a missing niece. Ever.”

“You could do it? You really think you could do it?” he asks softly.

Keris meets his gaze with pure, uncompromising confidence. “I know I could,” she says. “But I won’t, if it’ll get my family killed in turn.”

“Well, I can’t say I haven’t been thinking about such things,” Xasan says. His salt-and-pepper brows furrow. “When you’re sitting around and stewing about what happened to your hand, lot of dark thoughts come through your mind. The Vakotans are superstitious fools, so maybe they could be scared off and even if they sent some other band of mercenaries, they wouldn’t leave their horses to trample the fields. Then again, maybe if someone could persuade the Baishans to move, they could go up to the hillfolk. Wouldn’t be pleasant, but - bah! Me and you, we got Harbourhead blood. Your blood knows about moving when the cattle want to move. But these Baishans are too used to being rich so they don’t want to head up the slopes.”

He sighs, and looks to the door. “There was another plan I had, if I’d been able to get enough of the taxes stolen,” he admits, dropping his voice. “Hire myself some of my own mercenaries and seize the fortress at Nehra by the mouth of the valley. If being a warlord is sauce for the goose, it’s sauce for the gander. See, if you control Nehra, you can’t move people up past the valley mouth. It’s the way these northern Tairans do their war. They build these damn fortresses at every place they can.” He looks at Keris consideringly. “Especially if you can provide some demonic servants to help matters, or train people like the old tales say the Anathema could. I remember those old Immaculate tales, and I’m thinking that if you can turn peasants into superhuman soldiers, that’d be mighty useful.”

“It might be that I can train people,” Keris admits. “It’s a gift I’ve been trying to develop these past few months anyway, and I think I’ve got the hang of it. I was going to try to teach Kuha the spear as it was.” She taps out a quick beat on her thigh. “There are some Harbourite mercenaries I met in Terema, too. They were between jobs, and seemed interested in employment. I was thinking of hiring them - maybe even taking them back to the Southwest; they seemed willing to pick up sticks and find a new region if someone paid enough.”

She nods thoughtfully. “Could be that Nehra could be a test run for them. And if you and Ali and Zany and Hany wanted to follow along with them... I wouldn’t say no.

“But,” she adds briskly. “First things first. Those horse-fuckers took your hand. I can give you it back. It wouldn’t be the first thing I’ve regrown, and I’ve healed worse. And if I give you your hand back and you’re happy with it, maybe Ali will let me fix Zany’s heart. Are you willing to try, Uncle?”

((Okay, so, regrowing a hand with your Metagaos Charms is Difficulty 5, and takes 3 hours per point of difficulty, ie 15 hours.))  
((Heh, yes. I remember Darling Yellow’s feet took all damn day.))

“... you could do that?” he checks. “For real? You’re not just getting an old man’s hopes up?”

“I have done that,” Keris promises. “There’s a priestess back in the southwest called Darling Yellow. She’d lost her feet - an accident when a roof gave way and they went black. I grew them back for her. Took all day, and it wasn’t comfortable for either of us, but at the end she could walk again.”

He laughs bitterly, and says something in a language which almost sounds a little like the Tengese Keris is used to. “Then do it. It might be Hell you serve, but the spirits haven’t done anything for me recently. If Hell can get me my revenge and give me back my hand, then I will take Hell’s outstretched hand gladly.”

Keris blinks up at him, reaching cautiously for his maimed hand and trying to place the sudden turn to bitterness. Admittedly it’s not that far from where her own thoughts have gone in the past. Perhaps she’s more like her uncle than her elder brother.

((Using PoEU to profile what “regrowing his hand” is worth to him.))  
((Yeah, so, uh, he has a 4 dot Principle of Rage Against The World. He is not a happy man. He is very bitter and very angry and keeps it all forced down.  
His hand back is worth Resources 4, except of course he has no capacity to actually pay that much, so it basically translates as ‘everything he owns and then some’.))  
((Welp.))

“Well, I’ve got nothing to do today,” she says lightly. “So if you’re free to spend it here; let’s begin.”


	3. Chapter 3

Regrowing a hand is slow, tedious work - as tedious as it was to regrow Darling Yellow’s feet. And back then Keris wasn’t as skilled as she is now. It’ll be the best part of a day to tease a new hand from Uncle Xasan’s scarred, burned stump - and even then it’ll be a thing of Metagaoiyn wood as much as flesh. Oh, and she’ll need to slip some of Haneyl’s nature into him, so his flesh can be teased out, she reminds herself. It’ll be half a day on top of that if she wants it to look like his original hand, and she probably does.

Urgh.

Planting a seed under her uncle’s heart is the work of a moment, and Keris quietly winces as she feels it start to seep pollen into his blood. She’ll get rid of that once she’s done. Arranging them so that Xasan is sitting in relative comfort beside her, she lets her hair become root-tendrils that dig into his stump and begins the long, slow, arduous process of coaxing bone out from a crudely amputated wrist joint. It’s both harder and easier than feet - more fiddly little bones, but a simpler joint without as complex a web of muscles, tendons and ligaments arrayed around them.

Also, she’s only got to regrow one of them, and can more easily consult her own as a reference point.

Xasan is a good patient. He is a bit jumpy at first as his niece’s hair becomes strange plant-like tendrils that sink into his flesh and scar tissue and start moulding it, but the fact that it doesn’t hurt at all seems to put him at ease.

“Gods, could have used someone like you on all too many campaigns,” he says, trying to make light of it. ”I bet you can fish out an arrowhead without the damn thing hurting as much coming out as it hurt going in.”

“Yes,” Keris says softly.

“Amazing. So what’s the limit of things you can regrow for people? Arms? Legs? Eyes? A new head?”

“I don’t think I can do the last one,” Keris says wryly. ”You have to be alive for this to work. But everything else? Yeah. Yeah, I can. After this, I’m going to see to Zany’s heart. That’s the reason she’s so weak and so prone to fainting. Her heart isn’t pumping blood around properly, so when she gets worked up her heart beats faster and it causes problems.”

Xazan growls. ”Damn it. Is that what it is? The priests said they couldn’t help her.”

“They can’t,” Keris says simply. “They’d have to cut her heart open and sew it up from the inside. Maybe mortal men once had the skill and tools to do that without killing her, but not anymore.”

She falls silent for a moment, absorbed by a carpal bone.

“There are demons who could, though,” she adds once she’s past the tricky bit. “Sessaljae - bug demons; I can’t remember who they descend from. They can swim through flesh like this. They probably can’t heal as well as I can, but there are things I could still learn from them, and they’re not bad as demons go. They were made to eat the waste of the Demon Realm, not corrupt or torment mortals. The worst they’ll usually do to a human town is drink all their booze and creep out the livestock. They’d certainly be able to handle an arrowhead.”

She chuckles. “One of them actually fixed me up once, just after I took Dulmea’s bargain. I wasn’t used to my powers yet and a godblood managed to land a blow on me, back before I learnt healing.”

Calesco makes an exasperated noise in Keris’ head. ”Urgh. They descend from Alevua, _mother_ ,” she says wearily. ”You know, one of the few demon lords who actually understands how cute bugs are.”

The conversations with her uncle go on much like this for the hours - and hours and hours and hours - it takes.

((Okay, roll me Per + Politics to see how much about him and his backstory you get from him while talking. Additionally, you can choose to focus the conversation on specific things if there’s anything you want specifically, or you can just let him talk about what he wants which will probably get you a wider range of info across a range of topics.))  
((Oh, Keris. Probably not the optimal choice, but she literally can’t not. Chasing stories of her family, about Maryam and Kallash and her grandparents and extended family and where she comes from and who she is. Which I suppose is further evidence she’s not a demon, so perhaps it is more optimal than it looks at first glance.))  
((3+1+2 stunt+4 Kimmy ExD=10. 7 sux.))

Keris steers the topic. It’s not even intentional on her part. She lights up whenever he mentions her mother, and he notices. She chases after stories of how her parents met like the starving street rat pounced on apples and bread; drinks up tales of her heritage and her family like she’s dying of thirst. It’s impossible not to, and indeed she barely even notices she’s doing it.

There’s a veritable - ha - motherload of information about her mother here. In fact, Keris feels that maybe Xasan has been waiting for there to be someone who he could actually tell the story to.

“So, me and her, we were born up in the highlands. I’m not really your uncle - I’m her cousin, but our mothers were twin sisters so we’re brother and sister by the way our tribes did it. Other people say it’s ‘eastern Harbourhead’, but it isn’t that to us. It’s just the Highlands. The kings and princes of the coast don’t reach very far up into there. The highlands are all savannah valleys, interspersed with ridges. The climate isn’t too different from here - warmer and with more rain, but the valleys are much, much bigger and flatter.

“And up in the highlands, it’s your cattle that are your life. The soil’s too thin up there to really grow crops like settled folk, so you roam with your cows, taking them to fresh grass. Your family - and your tribe - needs enough land to have enough cattle to feed you all. The tribes fight all the time. ’Course we do. It’s the only way to to get more land. That, and stealing people’s cows always starts a fight, which is why it’s a good thing for young men to do to show they’re really men!” He invites a grin from Keris.

In Keris’ head, Eko nods in admiration at that idea, and gestures cunningly that she needs to make some cows for her friends to herd. Oooh, with really yummy sweet blood and milk!

“Anyway, that’s why the Tairans hire us highlanders. It works out well. When the rains are late and there won’t enough cattle to go around, plenty of young men and women go down the Great Glass Road, east to Taira. They serve the shah for ten or twenty years, and sometimes they come back with enough money to buy themselves a herd of their own.”

Keris has to ask him to be quiet for a while, while she works on carefully teasing out a new bone. But he’s more than willing to resume when she sits back with a sigh.

“But it wasn’t late rains which sent me and Maryam east. It was a tribe war. We were part of the Daiwye clan, and… well, we lost. We lost hard. The Khayre seized our hillforts and our cattle and took most of us as slaves. Our fathers died in the war. My mother died too and your grandmother… she did something that we do not speak of, and became one who is already dead to seek revenge for her husband and her sister. So it was us. I had already decided to go, and I tried to marry her to a friend of mine so she would be safe, but she refused.” He stares into nothing. ”She insisted on coming with me. She was just fifteen then, but she always was a firebrand.”

“She married my father, though,” Keris prompts, tugging a stubborn ligament out from one carpal bone to the next. “You said she fell for him before she retired from the shah’s service.”

“Hah! Yes! Well, I think she found being one of the mercenary warriors of the shah was a lot less glorious than she wanted it to be. There were a lot less pitched battles against soft easterners and a lot more walking between villages guarding tax collectors and standing around looking like ceremonial guards. Then she took an arrow to the thigh when bandits went after the tax collector and she went down. The wound went bad and I wasn’t sure if she’d make it, so we left her in a little mountain village in the care of the priests in that temple up there. And when I came back a season later, not only was she alive - even if she was walking with a limp - but she’d gone and got an arrangement with the son of the local smith!”

He shakes his head. ”So rash.”

“Sometimes love happens fast,” Keris murmurs; a sweet smile on her face as she thinks of Sasi. “You meet them, and within a few months or weeks, you know.” She cocks her head. “What was he like?”

Xasan settles down. ”Hrrmph. You expect me to tell you that he was a settled man, and helped balance the fire in your mother? Hardly. He was a very peculiar man. Not all there. He was a blacksmith, of course, and blacksmiths are strange folk. Back home in the Highlands, the most skilled blacksmiths are kin to the hyenas. But Kallash was a strange man. He was too close to the spirits, I think. Very wary of them. Very measured. Scared of offending them. I never knew what your mother saw in him. Of course, I didn’t see much of him. I’d only see Maryam rarely after she got married - I still had my orders and so I was always travelling. I’ve been all over Taira in my time, and even visited Jades on the old shah’s orders. That’s a Realm place, on the other side of the Grey River.”

“I’ll find him, then,” Keris decides. “And see what she saw for myself. And find her, too, and ask.”

She works for a little longer, lengthening his metacarpals and ignoring the sharp eyes watching her. Evaluating her.

“This doesn’t look much like flesh at the moment,” she says, instead of addressing his stare. “That’s because I’m using a bit of plant-magic to grow this back. Trees can regrow limbs; people can’t. I have to coax it to grow like wood and bark to get the shape of the hand back, then I’ll be able to shift it back into flesh to match your other one. It’ll look fine by the end, but there will be a stage where it’s functional but looks odd.” She mentally prods Haneyl to consult the Official Clock for how long she’s been working, and remembers yet again that Haneyl is with Sasi. “You might be asleep by then, though. This will take most of the rest of the night to finish completely.”

“Hmmph,” he says. He tries wriggling his half-done hand, and Keris has to relax his tendons before he can damage himself.

“No,” she chides him.

“So, you were in Nexus all this time?” he asks. He pauses. ”I went to Nexus once. The regents were paying their debts to the Nexan bankers, and they had to make sure the payment got safely down river. A thousand miles downriver - then the same long return. If only I’d known you were there…”

She grins, but there’s a wistful tinge to it. “I was feral, back then - one street rat among many,” she says. “My long-lost uncle swooping in to rescue me and take me back home? I used to dream about that - well, my parents - but honestly I’d give even odds that I wouldn’t have trusted a word of it. I didn’t trust anyone, much. ‘Cept Rat.”

Keris works on, making strange plant-like flesh and bone-like wood from the stump. One conversation from when the bones were in place and she was busy building up muscles and tendons sticks with her, though.

“Nexus was an awful city.” He’s drowsy. ”When I went there, it’s so full of sin and greed and corruption. Far worse than even Zamash. At least that city is clean outside of the slums - and the laws aren’t mad things that change by the hour. Why didn’t you leave?”

Keris opens her mouth.

Keris closes her mouth.

Keris actually stops working on his hand for a moment, trying to wrap her head around the enormity of the concept.

“Leave... Nexus?” she tries. “I mean... Rat an’ me were always gonna, if we got a big enough... but just...” She waves a hair tendril. “It was...”

It was her whole world, is what she can’t quite find the words to convey. She’d done most of her growing up there. It was safety; albeit a safety full of dangers that ranged from hostile to careless to environmental to entirely unseen. The walls of the city were the walls of the universe; they were her boundary and constraint and within them she was powerless to leave and yet queen of her own destiny. She could do whatever she wanted, even if there were things she couldn’t do. Even in her poverty; limited by means and by class and by her own body, the thought of breaching the territory she knew so well and striking out for unknown horizons... it wasn’t even that it was terrifying, it was that the thought had never occurred to her at all.

Vali stirs within her.

“It was home,” he says simply.

Uncle Xasan doses off, leaving Keris alone with her thoughts.

It feels like it’s almost midnight by the time she’s done. He’s asleep, and his hand is a strange, almost claw-like thing of greying tissue that looks bark encrusted. It’s perfectly mobile, though, she knows - and works his fingers for him.

Plus, she added a little gift in there. If someone cuts anything off again, the seed within him will regrow it back. Looking natural, too.

((Keris has given him the Regeneration Mutation as a 2 point mutation plus Internal for a surcharge of 1, for a total of 3 points. He is also now a CoDarkness))

Keris withdraws her hair and with a thought lets it return to normal. Pulling herself to her feet, she hisses in pain as her legs have gone to sleep and rubs them to get back circulation. She’s starving, she realises. She hasn’t eaten all day. Or seen her family. Or Kuha.

With a yawn, she decides to go for a run through the cold night’s air to wake herself up. The air smells of frost, and out here there are almost no lights but the light of the moon, which is waning. Soon it’ll be new moon, and she’ll have to decide which of her children - if any - she lets out into the world.

Of course, there are plenty of other things she’ll have to decide, like what to do about this place and how to handle finding her parents. And she’ll need to make time for her newfound relatives. And fix Xasan’s hand to look right. Busy, busy, busy.

“Rounen,” she says once she’s outside the village walls. Her little turquoise sziromkerub unfolds out of a cloud of petals that fall from her hair, and he smiles up at her. She motions at the forest. “Food. Grab me two or three meals-worth, then come back and cook. I have some stories for you while we eat.”

“Right, mum!” he says happily, and bounces off. A very short time later, he’s back with several rabbits, an owl and two fish that tragically found out water was no defence against a sziromkerub armed with a Ligerian blowpipe. Keris fills him in on what she’s been doing in Baisha while he cooks, pausing every so often to let him tend to the meat between bouts of scribbling.

“... and he’s sleeping now,” she finishes. “I’ll tell you the full story I told him and Ali later, so you can record it, but not right now. I’d have let you be there, but Ali can see spirits even when they’re hiding, and he’d have reacted badly. Now, though...”

Rounen hands her a fish skewer and takes a bite of his own. “Now, mum?”

“Now, I think it’s about time to introduce him to the not-so-awful kinds of demon that aren’t Pyrian or man-eaters. So you’ll be coming with me - immaterial - tomorrow. And yes, you can write stories about what I do. And while we’re on that subject...”

She opens the box she stopped in at Ali’s house to retrieve before hopping the wall. “Kerisa? The sun’s not there anymore. Sorry for taking your box up to the temple.”

Kerisa unfolds from the box, rubbing her eyes. ”Where are we _now_?” she asks, eyes wide as she stares around the night area. ”Oooh! It’s winter! There’s snow!” Giggling, she tries to make a snowball to throw at Rounen, and finds she can’t pick it up. ”Awww. It’s been aaaages since I last got to see snow. It never snowed in the mist. I could hardly remember what it was like.”

Gritting her teeth, she concentrates on a lump of ice. Wobbling, it floats into the air. Then with a wail, she throws it at Rounen’s head.

“Ow!”

Children. Keris sighs. She’s surrounded by children.

“Kerisa, stop throwing snow at Rounen. Rounen, put the pipe down and don’t spit fire back at her,” she orders. “Now, for your information, we are up in the mountains just outside Baisha; the village where I was born, which is a good few hours west on anyaglo-back from Saha and Eshtock. Like I said, Kerisa, I’m looking for my parents as well and we’re not sure where yours went from Eshtock, so this way seemed as good as any other for you. You can have a look around the town, but please avoid the river and the shaman-smith from the Vakotans; they’ll be able to see you. I’m guessing you can sense where your bones are, so be back at them an hour before sunrise. And no messing around with people like you did with the snowball. Just explore.”

“Did you find your parents here?” Kerisa wants to know. Keris shakes her head sadly.

“They were taken in the same raid I was. But my brother and uncle are here, so that’s a start. And my brother is a smith, so I might be able to add some more things to your box with his tools if I can find the right metals. Lead to keep the sun out better, maybe. Or some pretty silver decorations.”

Floating up into the air, Kerisa takes a look around with a puzzled look. ”This looks like a village and those look like farms, but where are the lights and the threshermen and the hauliers and everything like that?” she asks curiously. ”You can’t have farms without threshermen. And it’s so dark!” She looks up. ”And I haven’t seen a single flyingwing!”

“What’s a thresherman?” Rounen asks, his flame-filled mouth pouting over the fact that he’s been banned from retaliating over the snowball. ”Is it something you eat? Or is it some kind of demon?”

Behind her mask, Kerisa’s face wrinkles up. “No, stupid,” she retorts. ”A thresherman is a big man made of metal! It’s got hands that pick the crops and it pulls carts and ploughs and its knees are like a chicken’s and you sit on its back and pull levers! Daddy let me pull the levers when he let me sit on his one.”

“Sounds like a demon to me,” Rounen mutters, soft enough that Kerisa can’t hear him - but Keris can. ”And what’s a flyingwing?” he asks more loudly.

“Duh! It’s a big metal thing like a bird that flies that people sit on when they want to go a long way away. But Mummy said they weren’t being allowed to fly anymore because there were sick people on them. She said she’d flown on one all the way to Hollow when she was little!”

Rounen doesn’t say anything, although he does reflexively reach for paper. Reading his notes upside down, Keris sees he’s writing about these two new kinds of demon.

“The world lost a lot when the sickness and the fae attacked,” Keris explains. She could probably translate what Kerisa is talking about for Rounen’s understanding, but the thought of how far Creation has fallen makes her feel too tired and sad to bother.

“Anyway,” she says instead. “I’m going to see if Kuha is still awake, and take her through some spear practice if she is. Rounen, do you want to learn too?”

Kuha is awake. She’s had a boring day with Zany and Hany and she complains about it. Spear practice sounds wonderful to her, if only it won’t entail sitting around with a woman who’s making a big deal about being ill. As a former stick-child, Zany’s attitude to her sickness doesn’t impress Kuha much.

There’s only enough time for an hour or two of practice, because Kuha is sleepy, but Keris enjoys the process of teaching. It’s relaxing. With the weight of her children - one of them who’s being very kicky - reminding her, she wonders what it’s like to teach a small child everything. She might need to talk to Zany about tips on being a mother. Keris is already a mother, of course, but even if her children will probably be more like Aiko, she’ll have to take more care of them than any of her souls.

When Kuha heads off to bed and Rounen vanishes back into Keris, she goes off for a run and spends some personal time with Rathan, because it’s his turn. He’s declared that he’s not giving back the bits of the City that have been scattered across the near Sea, and has already handed rulership of the newly formed islands to his friends.

“Honestly, grandmother can’t - and shouldn’t - blame you for any of this,” he say sniffily, sprawled over a throne that his ice-clone servants have carried down to one of the new islands. The moon is moored above one of the spires and more icy servants are helping to convert the island into something Rathan prefers, with a lot more pearl and mirrors around. ”She’s being very selfish. You can say that you don’t want to let out monsters like Ululaya if you want. In fact, you’re right to do so. Even _Calesco_ thinks you’re right to say that.” His tone indicates that the very fact that they’re agreement about anything can barely be believed.

He waves a hand in her direction. ”Do you want a ramsquid skewer, by the way? One of Haneyl’s creatures saw the light and defected, and she’s a nice little chef. I’ve made her countess of my personal kitchen.”

“Do try not to steal her people while she’s away,” Keris says warmly, accepting the skewer and munching on it with her hair. And I know I’m in the right, I do, but... Dulmea’s still my mother. Even when I find Maryam, Dulmea will be my mother. I’m a creature of two worlds now; Creation and Hell. I need to balance them.”

She sighs. “I just need to get her to see that and make up with her. Which will be _hard_ , because she’s angry and... well, you know what she’s like. All hung up on doing things ‘properly’ and knowing your duty and doing it. And she’s a creature solely of Hell, so she won’t like that my place is with Creation as much as with the Reclamation.”

“I didn’t steal her,” Rathan protests, hurt and outrage rolling off him in waves. ”Mama, I don’t know how you can say such a thing! Gyllen just happened to show up and cooked me a really nice lunch so I gave her a title. Haneyl does the same thing! She’s got quite a few of my friends working with boats to ship stone to her silly ugly castle!”

“Yes, okay,” Keris begins.

“So I didn’t steal her! And it’s mean to say I did!” That protest out of the way, he sits back and grabs another pair of skewers. ”Anywhere, where was I? Oh yes, grandma being selfish about not letting you do what you want.”

He sucks off chunks of ramsquid tentacle, chewing thoughtfully.

“Hmm. I think the thing is that she’s weird,” Rathan opines. ”Much weirder than you or me or even Eko. She thinks I shouldn’t say rude things about Ululuya, even though she’s a big stupid fat moon. It’s not like she can _hear_ me or anything, and I’m right. And the thing is, you could totally run away from the Unquestionable any time you want. They wouldn’t even be able to find you if you just went to some city in the South. She’s scared of them and so that chains her to doing what they say, but I know you can leave whenever you choose.

He pauses thoughtfully. ”I think she’s also reacting badly because, well,” he flashes a pearly grin, “we did sort of show that five of us could take over from her. I think she’s missing Haneyl who’d probably have sided with her because my _little_ sister is easily bought and likes Ligier and the Shashalme - hell, she idolises them - and so she’s feeling isolated. After all, as Eko says we’re sort of born from your mind, but she isn’t. She was welded on and she isn’t part of you. So when we showed that we can cut her off, I think she’s having a freak-out because she’s realised she’s expendable. She’s reliant on you still loving her, and you can stop loving her whenever you feel like it.” Rathan’s smile is predatory. ”And she’s not entirely wrong. Calesco called her a choke-chain around your neck to her face, and Calesco’s sort of right. Her job is to make you be loyal to them, but all of us can think of a reason to tell the Unquestionable to fuck off. More than one reason, for Cally. And Vali doesn’t even need a reason.”

Keris eats another skewer - ramsquid chunks, wood and all - and goes through two more as she thinks.

“Calesco,” she eventually says, in a distant tone of voice, “can pull things from my memories. She does it a lot, especially when we argue. Maybe it’s because she’s good at seeing truth.”

Rathan looks confused and a little hurt by this; probably wondering if Keris is praising his least favourite sister to his face.

“So I guess I’ll tell you about this in my own words, and see if you can feel the memory in my heart or something,” she decides. “Or just listen and understand, I guess. You’re right that Dulmea’s foreign. Before you were born - before any of you were born; before I was even an Exalt - I went after Kasseni. As just a mortal street rat with a knack for pickpocketing. I got caught, of course, and thrown in the cell. You heard me tell Ali and Xasan that much.”

She wanders over to the edge of the pavilion his throne has been set up on, and stares out at the Tower Melodious and the veil of music now wrapped tightly around it.

“I didn’t manage to put into words, to them, just how _powerless_ I felt then,” she says softly. “How low. How hopeless. I don’t think it’s something I even can describe in words, it’s something you’d need to feel. I knew, lying there, that there was nobody coming for me. No one to help, no rescue, nothing on my side. I was completely alone, totally beaten, and doomed.”

“And then Dulmea came. And she was kind. She tended to my wounds, she said I wasn’t at fault, she offered me power - and yeah, sure, she was offering it on behalf of the Unquestionable, but she’s the one who crossed the Desert with it. She’s the one who gave up her body and became part of me. She was _on my side_ , right from the moment we met - and she still is, or thinks she is. She’s trying to do what she thinks is best for me. She always has. I’d be dead without her - _we’d_ be dead without her. Because Calesco is right. Without Dulmea; before her, I was like Echo. Vali, too, and even Haneyl sometimes. I didn’t _think_. I didn’t _plan_. I was reckless.”

She turns, gesturing at him, in full flow now. “ _You_ understand what I mean, more than any of the others. I’m cautious now, like you. I don’t want to die. I don’t charge in without thinking as much. That’s her influence; not just her voice in my head but just her being part of me. And what I’m saying is...”

Keris’s nose scrunches for a moment, then she shakes her head angrily. “What I’m saying is, not being mean can go _rot_. Dulmea is _ours_ now. If she’s so scared of the Unquestionable that she can’t imagine disobeying them, when they stuffed a shard in her that could’ve left her as mute and brainless as Testolagh’s and sent her out across the Desert and never even _asked_ me about her or _rewarded_ her for what they wanted her to do; they don’t _deserve_ her. She’s _ours_ , because even if she’s weird and uptight about doing things the proper way and wrinkles her nose at just smashing problems in the face sometimes, I can’t think of much she’s done since she became part of me that she didn’t think would help me or keep me safe or make me better at something. She even taught all of you what she knew, on her own initiative, to give you skills that could help you. So if she thinks that the right way to do things is to obey everything the Unquestionable say even when they’re uncaring monsters, we’ll just steal her from them and convince her that her place is _with us_ , not _under them_.”

Rathan leans back, his hair curling all around him like a red wave. Several emotions flash over his face, too fast for Keris to catch them. ”But is it just?” he asks in an oddly clinical voice. ”No. No, it is not. You have given her your loyalty, but she doesn’t give her undivided loyalty to you. Justice demands a rebalancing. You’re giving her your all; she must return it.” He brings his hands together sharply, water spraying from them to form two pairs of scales which he plays with as he ponders things. His free hands and his hair add and remove lumps of ice as he thinks.

It reminds Keris of nothing less than that time when, once, she broke into a countinghouse in disguise as a cleaning girl and there were scribes making these kinds of movements with abacuses.

“I don’t think she owes them anything,” he says, straightening up. ”They risked her life and they gave her nothing in return. You have shown her loyalty; she has shown you loyalty, but has tried to sway you to masters who do not deserve her and do not deserve you. Especially Ululaya.”

His pearly eyes look over his scales at Keris. ”If you want to force this confrontation, I think you need to get as many of us on side as possible. The last thing we need is someone breaking ranks. Like Calesco. Or someone being mean to her and making her lash out. Like Calesco.”

Leaning forwards, Keris tenderly lays a kiss on his forehead, and both cheeks. “You’re right,” she says. “And that will reassure her that she’s not expendable - that we won’t just cut her out. I’ll handle Calesco. Do you think you can talk to he-Zanara about it? Vali... Vali might be tricky, but he’d probably agree to freeing her. I’ll go via the Spires first.”

Rathan swallows. ”Do I have to?” he asks reluctantly. ”When Dulmea threw her tantrum, she threw girl-Zanara out of the trap she was keeping her in, so Zanara’s being a girl right now. And, uh, I can see the flashes of multicoloured light from the moon. She’s doing scary stuff with the bits of city which fell in her lands. And she’s closed her border because she’s assuming - for absolutely no reason whatsoever - that I want to steal the bit that’s right near the border and which used to be my land until the last war.”

Keris looks at him.

“Look, I’ll try, but I’ll make no promises until she stops doing the scary stuff with the nasty light and the evil fire she’s invented,” Rathan protests. ”Maybe I’ll have managed it by the time you make a loop, but maybe not.”

He rises, and gives her a hug. ”This was nice,” he says happily. ”You don’t come visit enough. If you want me to make you your own special apartments here, you only have to say.”

Keris considers it. “Yeah,” she decides. “Okay. Do. It’ll be nice to have a place to relax and swim whenever I want. And your sealife is more interesting than Creation’s.”

She hugs back, kisses him on the forehead again and leaves via the window, skimming across the island and diving into the waves. She wasn’t lying - the fauna of the Sea is indeed interesting, and Keris gets to corkscrew through one of Rathan’s ice-skinned orcas hunting a small pod of wild ramsquid on her way to the Spires. Wishing luck to the better beast, she leaves them behind and navigates a tricky route through the vicious, deadly currents of the Spire-channels until she’s somewhere in the middle.

Yes, swimming into the Spires risks getting caught in a sudden undertow and smashed into an unforgiving granite wall hard enough to splinter rock. But honestly, Keris is willing to accept that risk in return for avoiding the _noise_ for as long as possible. The higher you go in this region, the louder it gets.

Plugging her ears and sighing wearily, she chooses a spire and heads upward.

Vali is up in the cloud layer. Literally inside the clouds. Of _course_ he is. Keris manages to track him down by the rhythmic sound of hammer blows, and finds him on the top of a super-high spire, hanging onto the side of a giant black basalt building that sits above a volcano. He’s beating on the stone with hammers in both hands, holding on only with his hair.

He is _literally_ calling the lightning. It’s striking where he hits, warping the stone as he bashes away at it. And there’s metal inside the stone, and some kind of strange glittering stone.

And then she comes around the side, and she sees that she’s only looking at half of the building. Or rather, she’s looking at the whole building that’s actually still standing, because the other half was broken open by something. The interior walls are splattered with amber that forms razor-sharp splinters. There’s steaming water too, in the middle of this stormcloud.

Oh, Keris realises. It’s one of the dovecote-places he was building for Calesco. Only something has happened to it

He notices her when he pauses for a break, drops his tools, and flashes over to her with a thunderous boom. ”Hi Mum!” he says, over the ringing in her ears.

Rubbing a temple - oh, she is going to have _such_ a headache after this - Keris gives him a hug. “Hiya,” she says. “What happened here? Did the po attack? Are you and Calesco alright?”

“Oh, no,” Vali says cheerfully. ”She was having a bath here ‘cause I put hot springs in her house ‘cause hot springs come from volcanos heating up the rain and so they’re awesome and then it all exploded ‘cause... “ he looks blank. ”She didn’t want to talk about it. But she insisted this place was up in the clouds ‘cause they’re black and she likes black, I guess. And so whatever she did made it explode, so I’m rebuilding it but better for my best-for-talking-to sister.”

He reaches into one of the endless pouches hanging from his rope-belt. ”Look what I found!” There’s a black crystal, but when the lightning flashes and illuminates the clouds it glows with painfully bright starlight. ”Oh, and there’s the orange stuff there. Watch out, it’s super sharp.” His hands are covered in brass and basalt scabs. ”I hit it with a hammer! It shattered and went everywhere! Not doing that again in a hurry!”

A distressed squeak emerges from somewhere deep in Keris’s chest, and she hurries to check on him, petting the scabs and checking they’re all clean and healing properly. She has to extract a tiny shard of amber from one of them, and winces. It’s toothpick-thin and almost fractally sharp - she can feel the barbs and sharp angles even on the seemingly-smooth length of it, and if her skin were as fragile as a mortal’s she’d probably be bleeding just from picking it up.

“This stuff is vicious,” she whispers. “Alright, as long as you’re okay now. I wanted to talk to you about Dulmea, have you got a little while? You can show me your new crystal while we chat.”

“Okay! There’s still a bit of a quiet room in the dove house, so we can go there! Because Calesco complained about the noise and then I found a way to pack places with rockhopper wool and that just absorbs all the sound and starts sparking!” Chattering happily, Vali leads Keris into a small dark room inside the ruins of the building that has survived the blast mostly intact. He feeds a little oil to a faintly glowing green Haneylian flame, which springs to life.

Strangely, the crystals he found still glow painfully white, even though all the light is green.

“So what’s happening about Dulmea and her sulk just ‘cause you’re not a slave, mum? She needs to stop being dumb. You’re not a slave and you’re never going to be their slave and that’s all there is to it,” he says firmly.

“Ahhh,” Keris sighs happily at the blessed... well, not quite _silence_ , but less-noise-ence. “So, you’re right that I’m not a slave. But the thing is, neither should Dulmea be. And the Unquestionable basically grabbed her from where she was busy being a housemistress in Hell, shoved the shard into her and made her walk across the Desert and give it to me, all without so much as consulting her. It meant giving up her body and getting trapped in my head, and they just forced her to do it. I gave her body back to her and found a way to let her Chords out, but that was something I did; the Unquestionable never planned it. And they’ve still got a chain on her - she’s still so scared of them, and got brought up her whole _life_ being told she had to do everything they say - that she can’t even imagine anything else.”

She tosses a crystal up in the air and catches it as it falls, turning it this way and that to watch how the painful white brilliance refracts through it.

“So I say fuck that; let’s free her. She’s already part of our family, she’s been helping me for ages - and I gave her that as a choice, back when she accepted me calling her ‘mother’ and said she’d administer the City for me. If the Unquestionable have a chain on her, we should break it so she’s not terrified of them anymore and let her know that she’s got a place with us and doesn’t have to blindly follow their orders. Rathan already agreed, and I’m going to talk to Echo and Calesco about it. What do you think?”

Vali barely considers anything. ”Yeah, okay, mum,” he says. ”Like, that’s great! She shouldn’t have to do what the bossy demons tell her to either!” His eyes gleam bright orange. ”Smash them in the face if they try to make her work for them again!”

That was easy.

Keris grins. “We’re all going to go confront her together, once we’re all onboard,” she says. “So you’ll have time to finish repairs on this place, probably. I’ll let you know when it’s time. And be careful around that amber!”

Another kiss, a concerned squeeze for his scab-covered hands, and she’s off through the loud, loud, loud Spires to the Ruin. Which has the advantage of being quieter, even if she does almost immediately run into a gaggle of szelkeruby who - from the knives they’re trying very badly to hide behind their backs and the tar-pouches on their waists - are probably a roaming girl-gang extorting sugar from people crossing the border and blood-hunting the ones who are unwilling or unable to pay up.

“Try it,” she invites them. “I dare you. Or alternatively, get Eko here so I can ask her about something.”

Dare something, one of the szelkeruby gestures with her innocently raised hands. How would they dare something? No, no, they’re just selling… they root around through the bags they’re carrying, some of which show notable stab marks, before producing Swamp-leaf-wrapped packages of what is either flatbread or some kind of sweetened biscuit. These things, the talkative one mimes. They’re just selling them. Not mugging the all-queen.

But, she curiously adds with a toss of her ribbon hair, why would they need to find her Eko? She’s right behind Keris.

There is a little puff of dust behind Keris as someone entirely silent stamps their feet. The sound of the stamp carries quite a bit of annoyance at how everyone ruins her surprises. Eko twirls into sight of Keris, stealing the sweet things out of the hands of the szelkeruby and passing one to Keris. Yo, mama, her head flick indicates. What is up?

“Would you _not_ -” Keris starts, before sighing. There’s no point. She accepts the sweetbread and munches on it, eyeing the raptly-eavesdropping szelkeruby. They aren’t even pretending to be subtle in listening in.

“There’s no chance of you lot clearing off willingly, is there?” Keris asks them rhetorically. “Fine. Eko?” She holds out the back of a hand, and Eko - divining her meaning with a grin - is ready with a ribbon and a shallow slash of her knife. A light spray of blood droplets soak into the white silk, and Keris holds it up for the gaggle’s perusal.

“Shoo,” she tells them, and lets go. The wind whips it away in an instant; girl-gang in hot pursuit.

“Right,” she says, turning back to Echo and ignoring the already-scabbed-over line on her hand. “So, as you might or might not have overheard, I’m planning on confronting Dulmea and stealing her from the Unquestionable so she’s fully on our side instead - though maybe not letting them know that until it’d be best-used, or just really funny. Because it sucks how she’s afraid of them all the time and even if we work for them on jobs, we shouldn’t be wimpishly beholden to everything demons like Orabilis say. You in?”

Eko considers her options thoughtfully, and even slows down so she has more time to think. She _is_ taking this seriously.

She raises her hand, asking Keris if Other Mama put her up to this. Because, she adds, tilting her head, this sort of feels like an Other Mama kind of plan.

Ice trickles down Keris’s back. She hadn’t thought of it that way, but...

“When She came to me in the dream,” she subvocalises - not even letting the words escape her throat; a murmur so low that only hearing like hers or Eko’s could pick it up, and that only when near. “When She taught me how to become wind and ribbons like you; She told me things meant only for the Yozis, and urged me to... to ruin their plans. She doesn’t like that part of Her is in Lilunu; that they’ve anchored... that they’ve made Her care. She wants me to do something... clever. And poetic.”

Biting her lip, Keris considers. “I don’t _think_ I’m doing this, here, now, because of what She told me She wanted,” she decides. “I’m doing it because I love Dulmea and want her to stop being so scared of her old bosses and let go of that pointless devotion to a group that’s full of cruelty and pettiness. But... I can’t imagine She would object if She knew I was doing it. It does sort of feel like the first step of that kind of plan.”

Eko - so tall, so thin these days - looks down her nose at Keris, before squatting down and wind-etching with one finger characters Keris can’t read into the sand. She seems to come to a decision, as she gestures that she thinks Mama should do this - but only if she gives Dulmea new things to care about. She shivers, her fear that Dulmea becomes empty and hollow like Big Sister clear in her motions.

Then, as usual with Eko, the fear is shed like water off a duck’s back. Is that everything, her cheeky grin inquires? Because Eko has some new towns and villages to adapt to life in her Ruin, and she thinks she wants to be nice to her friends and fill up those useless dry canals with blood. Or maybe pretty dust. No, probably blood so her friends can come to get a drink. Isn’t she nice, she adds with a pirouette.

“You’re a paragon of selflessness,” Keris tells her dryly. “Now scoot. I need to go get Calesco on board.”

Travelling across the Ruin is always a an experience. There are so many weird landmarks that they somehow wrap around into being unhelpful all over again. This time, Keris gets to the Meadows by way of a curled-up skeletal tyrant lizard the size of a hill that has a town built in the ribcage and skull, a ribbon-crypt full of slumbering szelkeruby hanging from the ceiling that gets her under a particularly annoying maze of dust-eddies, the herd of those yeddim-sized club-tailed chameleon things that Haneyl has assigned guards to and the sulking remains of an unsuccessful cross-border honey-raid who are bickering among themselves as to whose fault it was that they lost.

While she doesn’t hang around to take part, Keris suspects it might have something to do with the fact that all of them seem to have been following a different battle plan from the rest of the raiding party.

Alternatively, she realises as she crosses the border into the Meadows’ gloom, it might be because they were unlucky enough to try raiding a honey-farm that Calesco was visiting. Several large hives are dotted around a hillside; partially dug into the rich soil, and her daughter is surrounded by a buzzing swarm of bees as she confers over an opened-up one with several mezkeruby and a couple of szulok. Keris takes one look at the twisting, complicated tangle of passages and pipes within the tar-lacquered wooden box and decides to wait at the top of the hill until they’re finished.

While she waits, Keris notices something strange. The tallest - which usually mean eldest with keruby - of the tar cherubs have white growths on their faces, of variable sizes. The smallest of the growths seem to just be small growths of bone from the centre of the forehead, but on others they seem to be growing and one male one seems to have most of his forehead covered and it’s already looped around his eyes.

No one seems to be treating it as if it’s anything strange, though. And if nothing else, Keris thinks with amusement, it makes it easier to see which way the tar cherubs are looking.

Calesco herself is working as hard as any of the mezkeruby as they investigate the damage that the raiders caused. Her veils look more like a beekeeper’s protective clothing, and the bees are flocking around her and nesting on her so densely that she looks more like a squirming mass of insects.

Of course, the other reason that Keris hangs back is that bees are loud, and there are a lot of bees here.

The beehive itself is on the edge of one of the villages of the Meadows, which seems to have had part of the City crash-land next to it. Half of the buildings have sunk into a tar-pit, but the other half has many demons - not just descending from Calesco - working on it to stabilise it and prevent it slipping down the slope. A pair of Haneyl’s farisyya are helping to pull down a building that’s about to slip away, so other demons can salvage the stone and ice and use it to expand the village.

Of course, what they seem to mostly be focusing on is building a defensive wall. Perhaps they’re a little sick of sugar-raids from the Ruin.

After it becomes clear that Calesco will be a while, Keris shrugs, hops off her hilltop perch and joins in the salvage work. It is, at least, a venue in which she’s subject to fewer awed stares than in other parts of the Domain - if she were in the Sea, for instance, every worker would have bowed the instant she came into view. There are still quite a lot of glances and more than a little excited muttering from the newer residents of the Meadows, but for the most part she’s left alone save for polite requests to demolish a sinking building or help stabilise parts of the defensive wall.

Calesco must have noticed her at some point, because she finishes her work on the hive and immediately - hah - beelines straight for where Keris is fusing stone together with bottled Valiant lightning and letting a mezkerub with a nubby bone bump on his forehead chatter to her about what he thinks his mask will look like when it finishes growing.

“Hello, mother,” Calesco says, still wearing her beekeeping veils. ”Thank you for the help. We’re trying our best to save as much stone and ice as possible, because it doesn’t form naturally in my lands. I suppose I’m too soft and formless for hard stone to have much affinity for me. But it’s useful for when we need to build things like walls and bridges.” She frowns. ”Normally we try to trade honey and sugar for wood from the Swamp, but with Haneyl away they’re scared of making any long-term deals without her approval - and they’re raising their prices too. And my caravans across the Ruin bringing Vali’s rocks keep on getting attacked by Eko and her friends. Little pests. I don’t suppose you can help with that?”

She pauses.

“Sorry, I’m a little distracted right now. Why are you here?”

“As it happens, I’m here about something that might solve your problem,” Keris tells her, starting to go in for a hug and then thinking better of it. Most of the bees remained near the hive, but there are still several dozen hovering around Calesco’s shoulders. She opts for darting in and giving Calesco a quick kiss on the cheek through her veil instead. “I’ve been talking to the others about Dulmea - Vali’s repairing your dovecote, by the way, though he couldn’t tell me much about whatever exploded it. Can we go somewhere private to discuss things? If nothing else; restoring the City would let you trade rock and metal through there instead, out of reach of Eko’s bandits.”

“Give me a moment, then.” Calesco returns to her beehive to carefully put her bees back in their places, and then unfolds her wings and takes off. She leads Keris away from the little scattered villages that dot the Meadows.

Along the way, Keris gets the… odd feeling that the Meadows-villages remind her of Baisha. The settlement, not her ship. But they’ve always looked this way. It’s the same uncanny feeling that she got when she realised that she had named most of her souls after family members, except even weirder. For some reason, the mezkeruby and other Calescoan demons have been building their villages in the northern Tairan mountain style, when Keris herself didn’t remember what Baisha looked like.

She tries to put the thought out of mind and speeds up. Calesco has landed on a leafless tree that grows on a hillock in the middle of a tar-lake. All kinds of Calescoan insects buzz around it, while salamanders lazily bask on the shore before returning to the tar with a flat plop. The moon is rising above Dulmea’s tower and casting its red light low on the horizon.

“This tree is old,” Calesco says, when Keris scales it to sit next to her on a branch. ”It was here before I was born, back when this bit of land was Haneyl’s. I like it and the animals like it. I come here to think and be alone, sometimes. I can see almost the whole world from up here.”

From up here, Keris can see the grey expanse of the Swamp on one side, ghostly green flames flickering among the treeline. Beyond it are pillars of multi-coloured light - or maybe fire - which suggests that as Rathan said, Zanara is playing. On the other side is the dusty red expanse of the Ruin, and through the haze of a dust-storm is the rising bulk of the spires broken up by flashes of blue-fringed black lightning among the thick clouds. She can even see the City-island that she met Rathan on, which is looking very much more to his tastes. Even as she watches, a giant ice statue of Rathan is taking form - he’s probably shaping it directly.

And of course, all around her, on all sides, is the ever-present grey-white of the Fog Wall - nearer now than it once was.

The two of them sit in silence, Calesco swinging her legs. Keris’ hair is wrapped around the warmth of her slight, petite daughter. Calesco does silence well. But then again, she is Adorjan’s daughter too.

“So what about Dulmea?” she asks, after a reasonable period of time.

“She’s terrified, I think,” Keris sighs. “She snaps at people a lot - especially me and you and your siblings - but beneath that she spends a lot of time being scared. She’s... what, fortyish? Twice as old as I was when we met, and she’d spent all of that time in Hell, being told that to go against the Unquestionable was death. That she didn’t matter; that they could kill her at any moment, on a whim, for no reason at all.”

She sighs again, letting her legs swing in time with Calesco. “And then I wanted to tell Ali everything, and the five of you ousted her. And I don’t regret that, exactly. It was the right decision to make. But now Dulmea feels scared and vulnerable here, too. She’s always tried to do what she thinks of as best for me, but she thinks the best thing for me is to obey the Unquestionable in all things, so when I went against them she thought I was turning on _her_. That I might stop loving her at any moment now that we’ve disagreed. And I don’t want her to think that. I love her. I’m a creature of two worlds, and she’s my mother in one of them. I’ll never throw her away. But...”

“But,” Calesco echoes solemnly. They sit in silence for a few moments longer, staring at the Tower.

“I want to talk her out of her blind faith in the Unquestionable,” Keris concludes. “To make her understand that she’s part of _us_ now, not their servant. She’s already changed from what she was when she came to me - I just want to make her see that she can change that little bit more. She’ll always be the part of me advocating to humour them, to not make waves, to stay beneath their notice and ire - but I want her to be saying that because it’s the _cautious_ thing to do. Not the loyal one. Because we - the sum of all of us - we need someone to preach caution, sometimes. To point out ways to not get _caught_ disobeying. But we don’t want blind adherence, and she doesn’t _deserve_ to be trapped between cruel gods who she’s been taught to obey all her life, and a group of hostile souls arrayed against her. Not when it’s not her fault they abused her all her life. Not when we can help her.”

She flashes a grin suddenly; sharp and vicious. “And besides. If she is a choke-chain like you said; isn’t it better to get her on our side and free their tool from their grasp?”

Calesco is silent, staring out over the rolling hills of the Meadows towards Dulmea’s tower. ”Her nature is to be a chain,” she says. ”She is a backdoor into your mind that lets the Unquestionable make you want what they want you to. Would you truly be putting so many thoughts to taking over the Hui Cha if she was not making you want to go for Realm trade? Because make no mistakes - you serve the mission they set you when you seek to control the Hui Cha so that the Realm cannot.”

Piercing red eyes lock on Keris’. ”As long as she exists, they will be able to do that. Will you accept these chains on your mind - even if you loosen them - for the sake of the love you claim to feel for her?”

“Not all of us have wings, Calesco,” Keris reminds her. “We grounddwellers can’t leap from a hilltop in the Meadows and set our feet down next in the Spires. This is the first step, and maybe more will follow, or maybe they won’t. But Dulmea is part of me whether I love her or not - whether she rules over a City or languishes in a tiny room that she locks from the inside. The five of you can suppress her, but I don’t think even I could rip her out entirely, enough that the backdoor you speak of was gone.”

She stretches. “And even if I could, I think I’d choose Dulmea. That she’s a choke-chain isn’t her fault, and it’s not fair to blame her or hurt her for it. I’ll accept a loosened chain for now, and make her see she’s one of us, and think on how to slip loose our shackles completely. What say you? Because I need you onboard with this, little truth-teller. Even with all your siblings behind me, your words could break this plan if you opposed it.”

“You’re willing to accept slavery and pain for the ones you love,” Calesco says seriously. She smiles, a shy creeping expression under her veils. ”Why would I oppose it?”

Keris smiles back - grins, in fact, a huge cheek-splitting goofy expression, because it is _so good_ having her souls’ backing like this; having the support and approval of her most-often-critical daughter. She wraps Calesco up in a tighter hug for a moment, laughing softly, and kisses her cheeks again.

“Thank you,” she whispers, before slipping down the tree and setting off towards the Swamp.

Will Rathan have talked Zanara around by now, she wonders. It’s possible. But she’ll give him at least a few more minutes, because Calesco’s comments about the Swamp have her a little concerned, and she intends to drop in on Elly and Saji en route. They’ll either be at the Tree or the Castle, if she’s any judge, but it’s not too difficult to plot a course through the tangled growth that’ll take her past both.

The Tree is abandoned; its entry-ways barred. Its fires are dimmed, too, and there are strange nut-brown streaks in the wood. Keris stares at it in bemusement. When she listens to the wood, it doesn’t sound unhealthy per se, but Haneyl’s court has abandoned it and the only creatures around her are wild, feral demons - and a young farisy hunting them.

Naturally, Keris approaches her. She’s a handsome chestnut-coloured horse, with a vine-wrapped corpse of an angyalka on her back. The plants manipulate the hair of the dead demon as easily as his hands, and this farisy is apparently experimenting with holding two lances at once. She has draped herself in red ribbon-weavings from the Ruin, her mane is spiked up in a pink mohawk, and a brightly coloured tattoo from the Isles marks her neck.

When she sees Keris, the horse-demon pauses in its hunt and bends at the knees, doing a very good approximation of a curtsey for a horse.

“My queen,” she says, “your majesty graces me with your presence. Do you require my services - or perchance for me to bear you where you wish to go?”

“I’m looking...” Keris starts falteringly, glancing askance again at the abandoned Tree. “I’m... looking for Countess Ellyssivera and Countess Saji, who govern in the High Princess’s stead. Are they at the Castle?”

“Ah, alas, my queen, this is a most tragic tale,” the horse says. ”But I, Lady Imanagi, shall recount this tale of treachery and bloodshed to thee! It all began when Countess Saji called Countess Ellyssivera fat because she ate a honeycomb that she had been saving for herself. Alas, this set Countess Ellyssivera’s blood rising, and she called Countess Saji stupid and said she was useless and messy and she was leaving her things all over the room and she also didn’t do any of the things Princess Haneyl had told them to do and left Ellyssivera to do all the work. And things went rather downhill from there.”

Lady Imanagi shakes her head sadly. ”Unfortunately, the keruby are all flighty children and they started taking sides. And what had become a personal dispute has now become a most base and treacherous civil war. They have drawn a line in chalk through the Castle, and their followers have to stay on one side of the chalk line and if they cross they get a vicious kicking from the other side. It is said that Countess Saji spends all her days dancing and having parties and doing fun things, while Countess Ellyssivera stews and plots against her while also stopping any sugar from the Meadows from arriving in Saji’s half of the castle. It is a most base and brutal war, and even my kind are taking sides,” the farisy coughs, “though in truth it is mostly an excuse to settle grudges of our own and of course derider those rivals who annoy us.

“And on top of that, a third faction has arrisen, pledged to your own servant Pontiff Rounen, who have gone off to settle the new lands which fell out of the sky near the city and who have called both Elyssivera and Saji stupid.”

((The moral of this story is that small children make bad administrators))

Before Imanagi is halfway finished with her tragic tale, Keris’s face is buried in her hands and her shoulders are shaking. It’s probably fortunate that the farisy seems to take this as a sign of grief, rather than the helpless despairing laughter it is in truth. Wrestling her expression under control, Keris looks up.

“Right,” she says, and swings herself up onto the demon-horse’s back. “Take me to the castle. By way of Rounen’s faction. This is ridiculous, and Haneyl will blow her top if she finds out it happened, so I’m fixing it before she does.”

The first words out of Rounen’s lips - or lip equivalents for someone whose head looks like a floral version of a Jack o’lantern - when he sees Keris are “Okay, I know this looks bad, mum, but in my defence Saji and Ely were being super-stupid about the whole honeycomb thing and they drew a chalk line in the castle and it went all the way through my library. And it’s not my fault! Really! It’s just that Saji is flighty and silly and spends all her time dancing while Ely is greedy and bossy and so I got my friends together and everyone else who was sick of them and we went and moved here! Please don’t be mad!”

Keris levels him with her very best Unimpressed Mother look. He cringes, which she supposes means it’s a convincing one.

“You know what you should do when Haneyl’s countesses are failing to govern properly in her absence?” she asks. “You should _tell her mother_. Gather up everyone who can be spared from vital work; we’re going to go to the castle and sort this out and come up with a very convincing story to tell Haneyl when she gets back and asks what you’ve all been doing while she’s been gone. Or at minimum a really, really good excuse.”

Rounen actually seems to consider that unfair, and he puffs himself up. ”Oh, but mum, I told someone! Princess Zanara was there and she told me this was the best way to make sure things would work out and she also made me a Pontiff because she said it was unfair I didn’t have a title while the other two had titles. Do you know what a Pontiff is? It’s not a word I’ve heard before. And she said she knew what she was doing, and she’s one of the princesses, except when she’s a he and so he’s a prince.”

After a bit of wrangling, Rounen and Keris manage to gather together people and head to the half-built castle. The white stone does in fact have a chalk line crossing it, even going up and over the walls. The two halves are even diverging artistically, as both rival sides work on the construction and apparently are using completely different versions of the plans to do so. One side has been building giant green-burning braziers on the walls, while the other half of the castle has got more overgrown - to the extent that the stone seems to be turning into wood, or at least growing like it’s got confused. And of course, given how erratic Haneyl’s construction process was in the first place with every whim producing a redesign, this has only added to the strange, spindly nature of the towers - one of which appears to be on fire, while another is sprouting leaves.

Keris looks on, a tiny bit concerned. She’s pretty sure that keruby just falling out shouldn’t be making the landscape morph like this. She hopes that it isn’t something like Haneyl’s dreams are warping her lands.

Hesitating for only a moment, she marches through the gates into the entrance hall and whistles piercingly, letting her caste mark flare to life on her forehead.

“I want,” she tells the various keruby frozen on both sides of the line, “the countesses here. Now. Along with as many of each side as you can gather along the way.”

She turns, hearing those caught in the hall dash for corridors and immediately start yelling once they’re out of sight. “Rounen, you and yours stay outside, but keep the doors open and listen. I don’t want three separate sides mingling yet and starting a fight.”

It’s not long before Elly and Saji emerge from their separate halves of the castle. Keris recognises both expressions. It’s the look she’s seen in the mirror on those occasions when she’s known she’s done something wrong, and someone has demanded to see her who won’t be happy about it, and she’s been pretty sure they’re there _about_ the misdemeanour in question - but she wasn’t sure of it. No other situation gets that particular mix of nervousness, guilt, frantic self-justification and muleish stubbornness.

“I could ask you to explain yourselves,” she begins, hands on hips. “All _three_ of you; Rounen included. But I already know what answer I’d get, and it involves a lot of pointed fingers and bickering that I’m not interested in. So instead I’m going to ask how you think your High Princess is going to react when she returns from learning statecraft to find you two having a civil war,” she nods at Elly and Saji, “and _you_ having gone off with a bunch of her court on the advice of Princess Zanara, who likes messing with people and provoking them as much as Princess Eko does, if not more.”

It is of course Saji who doesn’t listen to what Keris said. ”But it really isn’t my fault!” she protests. ”Ely is a pig who ate the present that Princess Zanara sent me!”

“Me! It was mine!”

“Nuh uh! It was labelled ‘to the best’!”

“So it was mine!”

“Mine!”

Rounen, who knows Keris better, doesn’t say anything and is trying to shrink away into the background, which unfortunately doesn’t work when Keris can still hear him.

“Enough!” Keris shouts, seriously tempted to let her anima flare further. Only the fact that it would happen to her running body in Creation prevents her. Nevertheless, the ground trembles and a ghost-like impression of the red-and-silver whirlwind seems to impose itself on the air around her for a moment.

She folds her arms and glares both countesses down.

“So you found a gift from Princess Zanara,” she says, mentally promising her youngest a chewing-out as soon as she catches up to her. “Who likes provoking people. And has come up with at least two plans to tweak Prince Rathan’s nose for Haneyl that I know of. A gift that was addressed in a way that immediately made you both think it was yours, which might as well have been tailored to start a fight. And instead of thinking this through... you started fighting over it.”

Saji starts to protest, meets Keris’s gaze, and shuts up. The silence hangs heavy in the air for a moment that stretches out agonisingly.

“I am not _angry_ ,” says Keris, noticing idly that the white stone floor touched by her anima-flicker is blooming dark red like bruised skin. “But I am _disappointed_. And while I will be having _words_ with Zanara, I expect this silliness to end _at once_ , and for both of you to apologise to each other, and for this _not to happen again_.”

She lifts her gaze and casts it around the room, at the gathered demons from all three sides. “That goes for all of you. Have I made myself clear?”

“I’m sorry,” Rounen says immediately. He has decided to get his apologies in first. ”I just wanted to help and stop people getting involved in the silly fight while making sure those buildings were made nice and pretty for Haneyl. It was my fault for trusting Zanara, even though we’re meant to listen to the princes and princesses.”

Saji and Ellyssivera take a little longer, but of course they’re also apologising - especially now they have someone to blame for this. It’s not their fault, oh no; it was a cruel trick by Zanara and how can keruby stand up to someone like that?

As they babble their explanations, Keris surreptitiously eyes up Saji, Elly and even Rounen, comparing them to the youngest sziromkeruby in the wincing audience. She hadn’t noticed with Rounen because she sees him often enough to be blind to his growth and doesn’t get many close looks at other petal-cherubs, but looking at the three of them now... they’ve all diverged somewhat from what she thinks of as the ‘standard’ sziromkerub form.

Rounen is the most subtly changed one of them. His petals are smaller even though he’s taller, which makes his skin look less inhuman - save for the colouration, of course. Meanwhile his fire is more… not dimmer, exactly, but more subdued. But more peculiarly, his bulb is changing in shape and closing in on itself. It means his head is more rounded, rather than coming to a point.

Elly’s changes are not quite the same. Yes, her fire is dim - almost alarmingly so - but her white petal-skin is thickening and becoming more like the pale wood of a tree than petals. And in her bud-head, her jagged teeth are more prominent. She’s the tallest of them by a notable degree - but then again, she is the eldest too.

If the other two are losing fire strength, it’s only becoming more intense in Saji. She’s still tiny, but the white fire inside her yellow skin is seeping out of her fingers and joints as well as her head - and looking into her eyes is like staring at a furnace. She’s almost hot to be around.

Keris can’t help but be a little concerned by the changes. Well, hopefully it’s just an equivalent of how the older mezkeruby are growing bone masks; some natural process of maturation. She reminds herself to examine them later and lets them babble apologies for a moment longer before lifting a hand.

Dead silence falls. Even the panicky muttering from the crowds about how furious the High Princess will be when she returns cuts off. It’s _really cool_ , Keris can’t help but think.

“I will grant that it wasn’t exactly your fault,” she allows. “And I may decide to consider this an act of war by Zanara while Haneyl was absent, in which case there will be consequences. However, some responsibilities do still rest on your shoulders, so...” she gestures to the two of them. “Hug, apologise to each other and make up. And then get back to working as one group, instead of three.”

The hugs are not exactly willing and insofar as she can read their faces, the smiles are more than a little grimace-like, but at least they do it. One of the wave-cherubs who’s apparently been pulled into this mess get to work scrubbing away the chalk line on the grounds that it’ll probably make Keris happy, while… uh, at least a few in the crowd start agitating that maybe they should be like szelkeruby and launch a few unofficial border raids to steal pretty things from the Isles.

Still, as Keris walks away, at least the fighting seems to have stopped. Next. The Isles. Time to talk to her youngest child, who is making a solid play for ‘most problematic child’ despite the lack of time they’ve been around.

As Keris approaches the edge of the Swamp, where it borders the Isles, she finds the rivers getting wider and the islands getting sandier. There’s a hybrid Swamp-Isles culture here, where keruby and other demons live on sandy islands in the warmth, fishing and hunting and trying to keep away from the drama of Haneyl’s court. It seems to be diverging more from the existing culture of either place, probably because Haneyl hasn’t been around to drag it back into her orbit. Keris does stop for a snack, though, and they do delicious meaty wraps that taste a bit Nexan.

And she can see Zanara, or rather she can see where Zanara must be. There’s a hundred metre-tall wall of many-coloured fire right close up against the City, and in its wake Keris can see new islands which… well, _presumably_ they used to be parts of the City. Now they look like a lot of things, but what they mostly don’t look like is buildings.

Zanara is apparently enjoying themselves.

Wary of touching the opalescent flames herself, Keris skims from island to island until she’s as close to it as she can get, and yells.

“Zanara! Douse the fires and get over here, we need to talk!”

There’s a fluttering of varicoloured wings, and Zanara appears from within the flames. They don’t douse them, though; they just leave them burning on their own. Zanara is a girl today, and her six wings appear to have been taken from some kind of wildlife in the Isles and sewn onto her hair. The stitches are oozing slightly.

“What’s up, Keris?” she asks. One eye is orange; the other teal, and they’re both slightly dilated. ”Look! Dulmea gave me lots of new buildings to play with! And I made a new kind of fire! I thought that Haneyl’s fire was pretty good with how it turned everything into ash, but then I realised, what if you thought bigger scale? So I made my fire and it turns everything into something else. It’s so pretty!”.

“Mmm,” said Keris, rather unenthusiastically, and teeters on the edge of a scolding for all of about ten seconds before giving in and delaying it. “Okay, come here; your stitches are oozing. Let me see.” She fusses over them maternally as Zanara squirms, straightening up the seams and quietly deploring her sometimes-daughter’s sloppiness.

“Fine,” she declared once she was satisfied, and decided to at least try for the easy way. “Can I talk to he-you, Zanara?”

“Mmm. Nope! I got bored being him! I-me had to be him-me for aaaaaaaaages after Dulmea was super harsh and stole this body, so now I’m having fun ‘cause she kicked me out when she threw her tantrum!” Zanara crosses her arms. ”We didn’t have to be him-me for so long ever before! Urgh! Thinking like that is making my-me head all achey. Bleargh. Better out of that. It’s way more fun being a girl, although he disagrees. But he’s wrong.”

Keris notices that Zanara’s pronouns are slipping. They’re normally much less willing to speak in the singular - or talk about their other body as someone else.

She sighs, mourning that option, and prepares herself for an argument. If Zanara didn’t like being scolded by Dulmea, she’s really not going to like being yelled at by Keris.

“Well, I just came from the Swamp, where I heard a _fascinating_ little story about a honeycomb,” she said. “Care to explain?”

Zanara’s gaze is wide-eyed and utterly innocent - and more than a little confused. ”What, the present I gave them to give to my best big sister? What happened to it? Did someone do something to it?”

Keris isn’t having any of it. “If it had been a present for Haneyl, I think you’d have labelled it ‘for Haneyl’,” she says. “Not ‘to the best’, when you know Haneyl’s been away for ages and won’t be back for a while. That note was designed to make them fight over it - and if you wanted to pretend innocence, you shouldn’t have pretended ignorance. I know you knew about their fight; you ‘advised’ Rounen to break off with his own group and split them up even further.”

Getting huffy, Zanara crosses her arms. ”To the best big sister! That’s what the note said! To the best big sister! Did they not read it properly and just ripped it open to get to the sugar? Is that what made the stupid fights that your Rounen asked me about? Yes, of course I told him to go to the City bits! Because that’s the fun stuff, and it means that Haneyl wouldn’t be angry that the swamp tore apart all the cool buildings because no one was preserving them! Plus, it meant that if they started fighting, that’d mean that at least the ones who didn’t want to be part of it would be safe and far away.” Her lip wobbles. ”Why are you being so mean? You’re not like this to Eko or Calesco and they actually deliberately cause trouble!”

Keris eyes her skeptically. Any argument based on a _sziromkerub_ not reading something - even something that had food inside - was a fairly suspect one. But as far as she can tell, Zanara is telling the truth. It was Elly who opened the package, as far as she recalls - and Elly does look like she’s been drifting towards Haneyl’s hungry side. Perhaps this has all just been a big misunderstanding.

Sighing, she crouches down and beckons a sniffing Zanara into her arms. “Okay,” she sighs. “Okay, I believe you. Can you understand why I was suspicious from what I knew, though?” She kisses Zanara on the forehead. “Sending a gift with ‘to the most beautiful’ on it or something... it does fit the sort of pranks you’ve played on Rathan once or twice. But I can see that this time it was just a big misunderstanding. I’m sorry for accusing you.”

More sniffling occurs, and Keris rocks her youngest sometimes-daughter from side to side for a while.

“It _is_ very pretty fire,” she admits, staring at the multi-hued wall. “Though I’d advise you to take a lesson from Haneyl and include a way to put it out if you ever need to. Setting your whole Direction on fire by accident would be bad; you’d lose all the pretty things you’ve made. And hurt your people, and you definitely wouldn’t want that.”

“I-we can’t put it out,” Zanara mutters. ”It’d be unfair on the prettiness. But it stops being fire after a while and decides to be something else and so stops burning. Because we-I’m not so mean as to tell it what to be. It can’t burn stuff twice, after all. It’s already made it pretty.” Perking up slightly, Zanara squirms into Keris’ arms. ”Carry me to the island over there,” she demands. ”I’ll show you.”

The island was one of the smaller chunks of the City cast out into the shallow sea of the Isles, only a few buildings-worth by its scale. It landed on a sandbank. Any trace of the buildings that once stood there are gone, though. Rising out from the white sand of the island is a coiling, spiralling building whose surface looks like gold coated in a thin sheen of oil. Opals gleam from odd crevices. The entire structure looks like a giant conch shell, and smells of peppermint. When Keris reaches out a hand, the structure is warm to the touch.

“I read something about lighthouses in the City,” Zanara says. ”I’m not sure exactly why I’d need one, but I think it’d be pretty to turn it into one. So I might make some kind of super-bright demon to sit on the building and be all glow-y so I can have colours for the light that aren’t red or green. Hanny and Ratty are a bit boring about their colours.”

“Definitely sounds like a plan,” Keris agrees. “Oh, and you know what? If you made the demons a bit like the teodozjia, so they were all linked together, you could have one sitting on each island in your Isles and tell them all to turn this colour or that when you were in the mood. Or even tell them to make patterns with their glow so you could paint light-pictures that Rathan could see from the moon. And you could tell your subjects that if all your lighthouses go, I dunno, blue then white then purple; that means it’s time for a big festival or something. Like a way of announcing stuff you want everyone to know.”

She tousles Zanara’s hair; checking on the wing-grafts again. “And speaking of Rathan, did he come down and talk to you a little while ago?”

Zanara shakes her head. Her hair, Keris notices, is currently many-coloured when you look up close - each strand a different shade. ”No. He doesn’t come near me when I’m me-me rather than he-me. I think he’s scared of girls. And fire. So when I do things with fire, he’s super-scared.” She giggles softly.

Rolling her eyes, Keris starts winding the strands together into six-strand rainbows, and braiding them together into a multi-layered ten-strand waterfall. “Well, I’ve been talking with everyone about Dulmea, and what to do about her freak-out.” She pauses to consider her approach here - of all her children, Zanara is probably the trickiest currently within her to convince of this course of action.

“I know you don’t like how she’s so set on the proper way of doing things - or al least how she scolds you for not doing things that way,” she begins, “but her panic attack when you all took control from her was something different from what’s normal. She thinks that obeying the Unquestionable is a rule that can’t be broken - that she can’t even imagine breaking. Because she’s been taught that all her life. Because they’re Unquestionable. Because she’s scared of them. I want to convince her that breaking their rules sometimes isn’t the end of the world - get her more on our side than theirs, so that she stops being so terrified when Rathan calls Ululaya a big meanie or Vali gets stubborn about not doing what Orabilis wants. Will you back me up on convincing her that she belongs here with us, not as the Reclamation’s loyal slave?”

Zanara cocks her head. ”What’s the difference?” she says with a shrug. ”I love Lilunu. She’s amazing in every way. And she’s so pretty and her place is so pretty and Ligier’s super-pretty too and his art is almost as good as hers. And if they found out, they might get angry and we couldn’t get the art there or spend any more time around Lilunu. And I don’t want that! She’s super-nice! And so pretty! I said it before, but it really matters! Pretty people are the best to be giving orders.

“The others might make a big fuss, but all the good pretty stuff comes from doing what the bosses want of us, and I like them. All the ones I met were very nice.”

“Lilunu is great,” Keris agrees. “And I’m really grateful to Ligier. But the reason you only met them is that I didn’t dare show you any of the others. Zanara, sweetheart... most of the Unquestionable aren’t nearly so nice or pretty. I think a lot of them even shout down Lilunu, because she’s still so young compared to them. Iasestus hollows people out and leaves them empty Pyrian drones, Orabilis kills anyone who knows things he doesn’t like...”

She ties off the last braid. “I’m not going to stop working for them. I just want to be able to decide ‘that mission is a pretty one; I’ll do that’ but find a way around doing ugly horrible boring stuff. I’ve mostly managed that so far - but Dulmea’s shouted at me a couple of times for it. And I want to be able to help Lilunu,” she adds on a sudden burst of inspiration, “I _really_ want to help fix whatever’s wrong with her, but I can’t do that under the laws of Orabilis. He refuses to let me know anything more about her condition than what I do already - and even getting that much out of him was like pulling teeth. I’m not even sure he _wants_ her fixed, instead of unstable and controllable.”

She smiles. “She’s the one the Unquestionable used to put the shard in Dulmea that Dulmea brought to me. If we steal Dulmea onto our side, we can work out a bit more about how she did that, and what’s wrong with her.”

Zanara screws up her face, squirming out of Keris’ arms to clamber her way up the oil-slick shell-building. She stands on one of the window ledges, arms out, balancing just like a human little girl would. It’s an oddly innocent moment from her.

“I said…” Keris begins.

“I heard you. I’m just thinking,” Zanara says, eyes closed. She freezes in place, brightly coloured hair petrifying into stone until she’s a gargoyle perched up on the wall, arms still held out.

She’s gone for a few minutes and Keris has started to look around before the noise of cracking stone draws her attention. Zanara is back, breaking out of the stone gargoyle form. She’s changed her hair so it’s now boyishly short and half her face is red and blue stripes. In fact, Keris is not entirely sure that she’s a girl anymore, even if she looks more like the Artist than the Art.

“Okay, so we thought about it from both sides and a few more sides and they-me had some good views that I-me didn’t think of,” Zanara says unapologetically, as if she hadn’t just turned into stone and back again. ”I-me am not too happy ‘bout it. I mean, what if we make Lilunu sad? And Hanny says both Ligier and the Shashymashy are super nice and cool so we don’t want to upset them either. But they-me is more on your side ‘cause they think it’ll make things work better in here and you’re prob’bly going to do it anyway ‘cause Ratty and Cally and Vali are more driving you here an’ so we’re just along for the ride.”

Zanara takes a deep breath. ”So you have to promise-promise- _promise_ that you won’t make Lilunu sad!” she says stridently, in a tone of voice that reminds Keris that there’s something Realm-ish about the Artist. ”She’s really nice! She’s all sad on the inside and she hugged me and cried in my hair and I want to make her happy and she’s so pretty and her art is the prettiest!” Zanara throws their arms out, glaring at Keris. ”Got that? I’ll make things really bad for you if you hurt her or mean we lose all our pretty stuff in Malfeas - because that’d make Hanny sad too!”

Keris nods solemnly. “I’ve got it. Tell you what - if your job is prettiness and Haneyl’s job is _stuff_ , Dulmea’s job in here is basically caution. And the risk of hurting Lilunu’s feelings is definitely something I’d want to be cautious about. So you can tell her if you think I’m risking it and she’ll probably back you up.”

She sighs dreamily. “And yeah, her art really _is_ pretty. I’m gonna have to stop through Terema once I’m done here and scope out all their artists for samples to give her and maybe tempt a few into Lilunu-worship. I might run up to Matasque as well and get her some things from there - and Nexus, since I’ll probably wind up going back through even if I don’t want to.”

Shaking her head, Keris snaps out of the idle planning and reminds herself what she’s here for. “Okay, I triple-promise I’ll be really careful not to make Lilunu sad, and to try and make her less sad on the inside and keep all our pretty things and help her make pretty things too. And since you’re onboard, and I’ve already spoken to all of the others, that just leaves...”

Her eyes turn to the distant shape of the Tower Melodious; barely visible through the many-hued fire at the centre of where the City stood before it got flung out all over the Empire.

“... Dulmea herself,” Keris finishes with trepidation.

Zanara hops down from the window ledge. They lost the wings in their hair when they turned to stone and back again, and thus they land heavily and kick up a puff of white sand.

“Yeah, good luck on that, Keris,” they say, and then sigh. ”We guess we should be other-me for this. You’ll owe me-me for this, but they-me are better with Dulmea.” Zanara sidles up to Keris. ”How about you let I-me out at new moon, in reward for being good and helping you with this. I bet I could do all sorts of things to help you in Taira - way more than other-me could do, right? And we can go look for art and pretty things for Lilunu so she’ll smile at us and show us more pretty things to do in thanks.”

“I need to make sure Ali and his family are safe and rescue my parents first,” Keris reminds them gently. “So not this new moon. But yes, once I’ve sorted that out, I’ll take some time to look around for art and pretty things, and you can help with that and help me decide what to take her.”

Standing and stretching, she dithers for a moment longer before shrugging. “Fuck it,” she mutters. “Now’s as good as ever. Okay, let’s do this. I’ll go in first, ‘cause she’ll want to get some yelling out first, and I’ll call you all in when it’s time to talk to her as a group.”

Hopping off the sandbar-island, she elects to run across the water rather than swim as she detours around the wall of opalfire, so as not to get wet. No point in dripping on Dulmea’s floors when she’s going to have a hard enough time talking her down as it is. The chunks of City get closer together and more frequent as she nears the land that used to be bounded by the walls - and she’s glad to see that a good portion of citizens survived whatever mangling their home went through - but the buildings are still torn up.

It’s a little eerie, being this close to the Tower and not hearing the Chorus. Slowing as she makes her final approach, Keris assesses the state of Dulmea’s home as she makes her way up to the base.

It is somewhat strange that both the King and the Queen of her soul like surrounding their domains with wind and storms when they want no one to be allowed in - because that is exactly what Dulmea has done. The blood red letters of Keris’ vow to her spiral around the tower at head-height, making a thin keening noise as they do.

Keris almost laughs as she remembers what they sound like. It’s just like the tomb of the Blades back in Nexus; where her past life was buried, where she fought the yidak lord, where those two Solars had died.

Yeah, Dulmea definitely does not want to let her in.

Nonetheless, Keris _made_ the vow that’s wrapped around the building, and she doesn’t intend to let it keep her out. Despite a mild trepidation about whether the letters can cut as easily as the singing blades in Nexus could - she remembers the hulk of a warstrider had been lying ruined among those.

“Easy, easy,” she murmurs to them, as if a whirling stormwrap of sorcerous oath can be soothed like an angry kitten. “I’m not here to revoke you; I’m here to _reinforce_ you. I haven’t changed my mind, and I’m not turning on Dulmea. So... don’t try and cut me up, okay?”

Gingerly, she extends a cautious foot forwards and steps into the wind of words. And the thing Keris finds is that the cutting blades… can’t actually strike her. It was all pretense.

((The thing, of course, is that Keris’ social attacks are undodgeable thanks to 4SDD. She can’t actually ignore Keris and she can’t keep her out - she has to argue against her))

Keris steps through the storm of cutting words like it isn’t there, and steps up to the door of Dulmea’s tower. It opens for her. She can’t keep her out.

The Chorus pulses through this building - and no more. It fills her ears, loud enough to cause pain.

Keris winces, going to cover her ears - and as she does so, she hesitates. This...

... this is another defensive tactic, she realises. Dulmea is hiding from her; trying to keep her away. She can’t lock Keris out - this might be her home, but it’s built in Keris’s very soul - so she’s trying to make it too uncomfortable for Keris to confront her. She’s shaken and vulnerable and terrified, so she’s lashing out.

Which means that when Keris reaches her; past whatever other barriers she’s tried to put in place, she’ll probably react like that. Which in turn means Keris should probably think about how she’s going to handle this. Winging it might work with her kids, who she’s seen grow from infancy and who are all part of her anyway, but Dulmea is twice her age and alien to her soul and mind both. The only advantages Keris has are the power disparity and the fact that Dulmea is off her game.

So. How to handle Dulmea? Well, Keris thinks, if she’s this scared, she’s... she’s probably thinking of Keris as an Unquestionable, or at the very least a demon lord. That’s what she’s lived with all her life - that’s her _normal_ for power, and even though she’s _been_ an authority in here for the last couple of years, this is the first real confrontation she’s had with a greater... power...

... except it’s not, really, is it? Keris’s thoughts shift direction with fluid speed and race down another angle. She and Dulmea have fought plenty of times before now. But those were always fights as _mother_ and _daughter_. Dulmea had the power in them. Keris gave it to her. This time, she took it back.

So. Hmm, Keris thinks, concentrating hard.

... maybe the trick is to be neither, then. Coming to Dulmea as a repentant daughter won’t work - she can’t give her coadjutor the upper hand here, or even apologise, or things will just go back to the way they were. And the whole point of this is to show Dulmea that the Unquestionable never deserved her, so she needs to prove she’s not at all like _them_.

A happy medium, in other words. Dulmea’s still her mother, but for this conversation, Keris has to be the authority. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a cynical part of Keris - which would probably be voiced by Calesco if she were here - wonders if it’s so easy to see Dulmea without her maternal pedestal now because of what she’s learned of Maryam and Kallash’s imperfections.

She shakes the thought off. It’s not important at the moment. Gritting her teeth and steeling herself against the noise, she brings her hands down and presses onward into the Tower.

She needs to find a way to make Dulmea take human form. Uh, angyalka form. As long as she’s just music, she can keep on with the loudness and maybe even drown her out.

She considers going up to the dome at the top of the tower - that’s probably where it would collapse down to if it got even smaller - but instead decides to try a different tactic. Keris heads _down_. There’s a chamber just below the Tower, where the hollow spaces of the three soundboard-towers intersect. It’s expansive and echoey - and it, rather than the dome at the top, is where the music from the tower-harps resonates and spills out into the rest of the... well, it used to be the rest of the City.

Now it seems to be stuck here. Loudly.

Keris grits her teeth until it feels like her skull is splitting and determinedly keeps to her a steady pace until she reaches the middle of the bare, roughly-triangular room. Each wall has a wide open segment in it, leading up the hollow expanse of a soundboard, and with her eyes closed she can _hear_ the three melodies they play bouncing out of the openings and mixing together; twining around one another to form the symphony. The floor is a mural of musical notes; a river of them marching out from each wall and narrowing into a three-part spiral with only a small circle of bare marble at its heart.

“Dulmea,” she forces out, sitting down cross-legged on the floor within that circle. “Enough avoidance tactics. Manifest. We need to talk.”

Her words are - hopefully - enough to get through to Dulmea. At least they have enough presence that the music spins into form and substance and in the wavering air Dulmea takes shape. Her eyes are reddened; her hair tangled and dishevelled; her fingers convulsively stroking the air. The chords of time here are fearful and hurt and upset.

Before anything else - almost before Dulmea finishes forming, in fact - Keris lunges forward and hugs her.

Dulmea goes rigid under her, which isn’t entirely unexpected, but Keris lingers until she’s sure her mother isn’t going to dissolve back into music under her touch - or the instant she lets go. Then she leans back.

“So,” she says shakily. “First of all. You’re not in danger. You’re still my mother, and my oath to you still holds. We need to talk - and I think we’ve needed to talk for a while - but I’m not giving up on you or turning on you. I promise.”

“These are your duties!” Dulmea snaps, voice harsh. ”Your purpose! Mine too! If the Unquestionable wish to be freed, we must free them! It is not your place to deny them anything and it is not my place either! That is nature; that is the world; that is us! Keris, I fear you have gone mad again, just like you did at Calibration! Cease such reckless insanity! Remember what you are! What we are!”

((Heh. Rolled Temperance. 2 successes! Keris is feeling very Temperate at the moment. And of course she’s riding an almost unprecedented level of soul-harmony and unity-of-purpose.))

“I haven’t gone mad,” Keris says. She feels _different_ from usual, yes, but not unbalanced and erratic like she had at Calibration. If anything, she feels the exact opposite - absolutely calm; more _centred_ and sure of herself than she’s ever been.

“I think you’re scared,” she continues, her voice low and soft. Her fingers stroke the air, playing a counterpoint to Dulmea’s music - a soothing tune that tugs at the jangling notes of the Symphony and urges them to soften. “I think you grew up in a world that told you over and over that you couldn’t question the souls of the Yozis; that to even think of it was madness. But I’ve never really believed that name for them like you and Sasi do. To me it’s just a word. I’ve always questioned some of their actions, inside.”

Keris falls silent and keeps playing for a while, but raises a hair tendril when Dulmea makes to snap at her again. “If everything kept to its place and nature and the world were absolute, the demon princes would never have been locked up in the first place,” she says. “And the power that did that; the power that beat them; that’s in me now. If I have a nature, it’s to defy any absolute ruler - which is why the Sun lost the power when the Reclamation took it back. They gave it to me, and they gave _you_ to me, and nowhere in that did they wonder if it was a good idea, or ask for your opinion, or give anything back. They’re not infallible. They’re not always in the right. And even if I _wanted_ to obey them all without question, I couldn’t. They all want different things.”

She cocks her head. “You say it’s not my place, but I’m as much a child of Creation as I am a creature of Hell. My place, if I have one, is between them. Working for the demon princes - but not letting them ruin Creation by setting them free. Which they would; you know that just from looking at what they do in Malfeas. And you’re the Hellish side of me; my demon-mother, and that means speaking for that side of me is _your_ place - but you’re still part of _me_.”

Her hair shifts forward and winds around Dulmea’s. “I’ve spoken to the children. All of them that are here. And they’re all with us, Dulmea - not with me against you; with _us_. You were born to Hell, sure, but you belong here now. They don’t _deserve_ you if they make you so terrified - and we’re not going to treat you the same way. We’ll protect you, and accept you, and give you a place here. I’m not quitting the Reclamation or starting a crusade against the Unquestionable like the Paricehet did. They still give me good reasons to work for them. I’m just asking you to let go of obeying them for no other reason than they want us to obey.”

“This is not something for you to demand,” Dulmea flares back. ”Duty! Does this mean nothing to you? We have a duty to the lords and ladies of Hell! We cannot demand things like ‘deserving’! We have a duty to them, that is all! There is nothing to negotiate there!”

“ _Why_ do we have a duty to them, though?” Keris asks, still patient. “Me? Perhaps. They did give me power, and free me from the cell. But you? Why must you obey them? Duty...” she frowns. “Duty should go both ways. Up _and_ down. A fair trade - like how Haneyl makes sure her court is the best it can be, or Rathan makes sure his people are provided for. The only thing they have on you is creating your race in the first place - and if that’s enough to mean duty, I would have a duty to Creation in turn. They’ve done nothing to earn your loyalty except _demand_ it.”

“Because that is the nature of the Descending Hierarchy! That is the _law_ ,” Dulmea screams at her. ”Power comes from the All-Makers, who made the world and all things that dwell in it! The Unquestionable are their faces and their voices! From them came the lords who are testaments to their glory! These mighty beings made the lesser creatures, the demons and the mortal races and the traitor gods! This was the way of the world and this is how things work!”

((Pitying TLA Principle of sincere platonic love formed over how the Unquestionable have hurt her.))

Keris cocks her head and spreads her hair.

“So which of them made this?” she asks. “Which of them made the world we’re in now?”

It’s only the love in Keris’ voice that distracts her, knocks her off balance, sways her away from her rage.

“It’s… uh…” and that’s the killer moment. It doesn’t matter that she says, “it was them too! The power… the power came from them and your human race was made by them…”

There was hesitation.

“This power has never really been under their control, though,” Keris says, wrinkling her nose. “It got used to cast them down back in the first war.” She frowns. “I mean, I’m pretty sure they had it before that, but who knows _where_ it came from originally? It’s made to uplift weak things and make them titan-slaying demigods, which doesn’t sound like their work. And it’s definitely not loyal to anyone, given how many sides the Exalted have served over the centuries.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t think this power is part of the Hierarchy. I don’t think it obeys laws, or lords, or the way of the world. And that means I’m free to pick a side based on what I want, instead of duty or fear or whatever.” Her eyes soften. “I want that for you, too. They gave up claim to you under the Hierarchy when they made you part of me.”

“It’s not that simple,” Dulmea says, softly.

“Isn’t it?” asks Keris.

There’s a long silence that stretches out.

“No. Yes.” Dulmea takes a breath. ”I… I am… I can, can’t I? This is a new place. Something outside their reach.” Her eyes glisten wetly; her hair coils. ”The only rules here are the ones you set. This is your place. Outside, you obey them - but that is something else.”

Keris grins. “Now you’re getting it. And I think the children are at the door. They feel the same way - if you let them in, they’ll tell you.”

She leans forward and hugs Dulmea again. “Obeying the Unquestionable to their faces because they’re scary and powerful and could kill me if they cornered me - that’s one thing,” she says. “That’s sense. That’s _caution_. That’s the kind of thing I need you to remind me of, because I didn’t have it before you. But _thinking_ they might be wrong sometimes - and maybe disobeying when I won’t get _caught_ doing it - that’s another. That’s the choice I get from having this power.”

“Perhaps you’d be better off without me,” Dulmea says. Her eyes are hollow; her expression sad. ”They must have put me in here for a reason, and I don’t think they would rely on a mere citizen to talk down someone like you. I couldn’t do that. I didn’t do that. They must be prepared for demons like me to realise that there’s nothing they can do - so there must be something they can do.”

“Without you I’d be dead,” Keris snaps - the first thread of anger she’s shown in the conversation. “Not just in the cell... shit, Dulmea, you’ve caught a lot of my memories from before then. You know how many times you’ve had to tell me to slow down and think since. I would _definitely not_ be better off without you. And yeah, I reckon you’re how they’re getting me to stay so focused on Realm trade and taking over the Hui Cha.” She smirks. “But now we _know_ about that. And I know more about the coadjutor than any other Infernal - as much from Orabilis as he was willing to give someone he thought was completely loyal, and more besides that from watching Lilunu. Maybe we can find a way around it.”

“You’re still going too far,” Dulmea says, taking a deep breath. ”I… I am not part of the Descending Hierarchy. Not anymore. But they’ll send people after you if you are seen to have broken whatever controls they have on you. People who do what I used to do for my lord. People like you, trained to hunt and kill you. So, no, better to seem loyal and act loyal than prove disloyal.”

Keris mulls this over for a few seconds, and tips her head in assent. “For the moment, yeah. And that’s exactly the kind of view I need you voicing, to keep me from going too far or getting too reckless. Hopefully, their controls will never get so stifling that breaking free is worth whatever vengeance they’ll send - and if my hand _is_ ever forced, I’ll have you to keep me careful.”

She draws back and stands, holding out a hand to help Dulmea rise. “Now, shall we go up and see the children?”

Dulmea swallows. ”This doesn’t make everything right between us,” she says softly, almost lost in the music. ”Things aren’t that simple. I… I can’t give you answers. I can’t trust you, not like I did before. You’re doing things on your own directly against me - and the children can seize control if they force it. And they’re part of you in a way I’m not.”

Sadness flickers across Keris’s face, and her shoulders fall. “Yeah,” she sighs. “That’s fair, I guess. But I hope we can work on that, and that you’ll let me earn some trust back.”

“I suppose so,” Dulmea says. ”Now, yes. What happened? From the windows, I can feel… things changed.”

This draws a wince. “Ah... yes,” Keris admits sheepishly. “Apparently you _are_ sort of an integral part of me in at least one sense, and the reason I can only summon your Chords out is that you’re anchoring this world here. Because when we had our... falling out, the City imploded. There are bits of it scattered all over the Empire - uh, the kids have stolen most of them, I’m afraid. Also the Cloud Wall rushed in and ate, like, a couple of kilometres of the edgelands as the world contracted. It’s a bit of a mess, honestly, and I’m _really_ hoping you can grow a new City around the Tower now that we’ve mostly sorted things out, because otherwise building one from scratch is going to be a pain.”

That produces a small smile from Dulmea, unexpectedly. ”It’s nice to feel needed,” she says, sounding almost pleased. She wraps her hair around Keris. ”I suppose that’s one way of demonstrating to me that I belong here now.” She hums a brief melody. ”And I do believe I can do a better job with the new city when it grows. The children are welcome to the old one. Perhaps they might learn some responsibility if they’re forced to care for it, because I won’t replace it for them.”

They ascend the Tower together, up one of the three staircases that lead down to the Resonant Chamber and then further up in the lift to the dome atop the tower column. The children; apparently having been let in by Dulmea at some point during the conversation, are waiting for them there.

“We’ve sorted things out,” Keris announces to the room at large, “and we’re all agreed. We’re not part of the Descending Hierarchy, and the rules of Hell don’t apply in here. Dulmea’s safe here, with us.” She glances out of the window. “The old City will be staying in the places it landed, though, so look after the bits. Dulmea will be tending to the new City as it grows.”

The miscellaneous ducklings of Keris’ soul are all gathered here - with the exception of Haneyl. They vary in form from ribbon-Eko, smeared out over the air and vibrating with the repressed energy of having to stand still, to Rathan now taller than Keris and even taller if you count the horns, to snuggly sweet shadowy Calesco, to the endlessly grubby and brass-scabbed Vali who’s already taller than Calesco despite being younger, and boy-Zanara brings up the rear, horned and winged with three eyes.

So, Eko’s hand gestures immediately leap to ask, we get to keep the buildings and stuff? Because, she expands, she’s just spent aaaaaaages filling all the canals of her bits with blood and it sort of got a bit messy towards the end when she might have started trying to improve blood and to cut a long story short she had to invent some new kinds of fish.

There’s a pause as everyone absorbs that.

“Yes, Eko,” Keris says firmly to the tune of several winces and a pained look from Rathan. “You get to keep the buildings and stuff. But Dulmea won’t replace them if you break them, so take care of...”

She pauses, and reconsiders who she’s talking to.

“... so try to remember that you won’t get new ones once they’re gone,” she finishes instead.

Zanara cleared his throat. ”Well, since we’re all here,” he begins slightly shyly, “I suppose we can try to find who got what. Does anyone know what happened to the library? It didn’t land in my lands, and there were some books I wanted to read in there? Likewise, uh, I hope someone got hold of Mama’s treasury, and it wasn’t one of the buildings that went flying overhead and landed in the Fog Wall.”

“Not me,” Rathan says, shaking his head. ”Unless it sank. Some of the buildings sank because, well, the Sea is the Sea.”

“I don’t know,” Calesco admits. ”I also lost quite a lot of the buildings landing in places to tar-pits.”

Oh dear.

((trollface))  
((FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF))


	4. Chapter 4

((So, here it is. Session 150. Seriously, 150 wtf. How the fuck has this lasted so long?))  
((Six years since we started playing yo.))

When Keris wakes the next morning, she’s feeling... better. Calmer. More secure in the knowledge that Dulmea is talking to her again. She stretches languidly, considers her day, and curses quietly. Okay, first thing first - she probably needs to shift Xasan’s hand back to normal. Even if that means another half-day or so cooped up without any breaks; Ali is unlikely to react well to the bark-like claw that she’s regrown already.

... though she can probably get one thing done on the way over.

“Rounen,” she says softly, and watches as her scribe emerges from her hair in a flurry of petals. He’s rubbing his eyes, and his fire seems a little less bright than usual; though it steadily brightens as he yawns.

“Whoops,” Keris says sheepishly. “Sorry for waking you. But you’re tagging along with me today, remember? Make sure to stay immaterial and be on your best behaviour. I want you to make a good first impression.”

“Sure thing, mum,” he says, though his enthusiasm seems damped. “When’s breakfast?”

“Let’s find out,” Keris shrugs. “Worst case, we can pick something up on the way over to Xasan’s.”

Shifting her amulet to her favoured red dress - and then altering it again to be more modest - she rouses Kuha with a few prods and apologises in advance for another boring morning on her own, then ventures downstairs with Rounen trotting obediently at her heels.

Zanyira is at least on her feet today, although she’s moving like an old woman as she tries to get the fire lit. She looks even more exhausted than Rounen sounds.

“Good morning, Keris,” she says, her voice soft. “How did you sleep?”

“... troubled dreams,” Keris says diplomatically. “It looks like you had it worse than me. How are you feeling? Can I help?”

Keris can in fact help, and she gets everything done much more quickly - at least when she’s directed to do the right things by Zany. As it so happens, Keris has literally no idea what normal ‘womanly’ duties entail, because of a mix of living on the streets and then moving directly to living in a palace with tens of demon servants.

((oh keris))

“I wanted to ask you for some advice, while we’ve got some time to ourselves,” she says, tending to the fire with a hair-lock from across the room as she serves them both some tea. “I grew up without any adults spending much time in my life, and now I have these two on the way and there’s no father still around, so I’m worried about... I mean, how do you know how to _mother?_ How do you know what to do, how do you know how to raise them right or... or what to teach them or how to treat them as they grow and... and that sort of thing?”

Zany sits down heavily, sweeping her brown hair back. Keris doesn’t quite feel she’s internalised so much that she’s her cousin as well as her brother’s wife.

“Gods of the sun, I can’t even say,” Zany says softly. “Ali and me didn’t have any close family left after the raid. I was only eight, and I had no parents. I know I’m not a very good wife because I’m ill all the time. I worry a lot if I’m doing the right thing - and she’s always so energetic. What I have, I just picked up from other women. Older women always show up to give advice to a new mother - or someone who’s expecting, or trying. They’re so pushy about it.”

Keris pouts. “I haven’t had any do that to me. I guess I was on the move too much.” She sighs. “Ah well. I’ll get by, I suppose. I can ask Sasi, if nothing else...” She’s muttering by the end, then shakes it off. “And if I can help with your condition, you won’t have so much trouble keeping up with her.”

“I hope so,” Zany says, her brow creasing. She’s not at all like Zanara. Keris wonders what part of her subconscious ascribed something like her name to her youngest.

Sneaking a portion of breakfast into her hair for Rounen to have later, Keris cocks an ear for Ali and considers whether it’s worth waiting for him to wake up. “I think I’ll spend this morning with Xasan as well,” she says casually. “We should be done sometime by afternoon. Can you tell Ali where I am if I leave before he’s up?”

“He’ll be sleeping for a while yet,” Zany says wryly. “He’s a night owl. He says he gets his best work done at night.”

“Like me,” Keris grins. “Well then, I’ll be on my way over to Xasan’s. I’ll see you later.” With a quick, hidden gesture to Rounen, she makes her goodbyes and leaves, doling out breakfast to the hungry sziromkerub en route.

“This’ll be fairly boring,” she tells him. “I’ll mostly just be sitting and working his hand. But I’ll talk while I’m at it and catch you up on some of the things I’ve been doing, so you can write about them.”

Rounen looks up from where he’s wolfing down the scraps. “Okay, mum,” he says, mouth full.

Xasan is already awake when Keris arrives, and the house looks cleaner and more organised. He’s cleaned himself up and he looks like he’s just more... alive.

He meets his niece with a bone-crushing hug, then lets go when he realises that he’s squeezing a pregnant woman too hard. “Sorry, sorry,” he apologises. He waves the grey bark-covered claw-hand in front of her. “It works! It really works!” His dark eyes are running with tears.

“It works, and I’ll fix it up to look right as well if you give me the morning,” she says smugly. “Uh. Which I’d really rather do before you showed it to Ali, because he might take how it looks the wrong way. This part won’t take so long - the hard work was growing it back as wood; now I just have to tease it into flesh.”

She considers him for a moment, and makes a decision with a sly wink to Rounen. “So, feel up to sharing a few of your old campaign stories with me? The more exciting ones?”

((Yeah, not going to ask you to roll for this because you can do it just with excellency auto-successes.))

It’s still a very long and slow process, but his war tales help make things more interesting. Her uncle... who is, she reminds herself, her mother’s cousin but their mothers were identical twins so it’s just a mess... has lived a very strange life. He’s been all over Taira, and he’s been to stranger places beyond that.

He talks about the Great Glass Road that runs from his homeland to just west of Taira, and how it gleams in the sunlight. He talks of the strange river folk from Douzha, and the lizard monsters who roam the jungles down there.

“And Perswha - that’s a strange place,” he says, as Keris works on his hand. “They’re crazy down there. That’s always been what’s different about Southern Taira - the northerners worship the sun in five faces and the lesser spirits, but the southerners say that the moon is the mother of the suns and put her first among all the gods.”

Keris huffs. “I’d have more respect for either if they’d ever done anything for me,” she mutters. “Most of the great gods don’t. Though Nexus was lousy with little spirits. If you knew how to bargain with them; they’d help you out sometimes. There was one who me’n my partner prayed to and left offerings for who’d make our dens harder to find.”

“Your partner? The father?” he asks.

“... yes, kind of,” Keris says, surprised. “The one I met in the alley when we were kids. Who disappeared. It’s, uh... complicated.” She slows in her work, rubbing a lock over the curve of her belly, and sighs. “I really miss him, sometimes,” she admits. “Which is stupid, given what happened, but... he was always better at plans and talking to people. I wouldn’t be so scared of being a mother to two little babies if he were around to...”

She trails off, wistful, and resumes her work with a shake of her head.

The day is half-gone by the time Keris has finished layering human skin over the top and coaxing the plant-matter to pretend to be human flesh. After some testing and waggling around, it seems to work just as well.

Frowning, Xasan asks her the best way to cover it up. “Or else there’ll be questions asked - and the Vakotans might decide to take my head this time if a hand won’t stick,” he says darkly.

“Keep your arm cradled to your body,” Keris advises. “You can cover the hand with a jacket or in the folds of your shirt. Hunch a bit when you go out, stay home and out of their way when you can, and don’t wave it around until we’ve kicked them out. If they start throwing their weight around; see if you can draw them to me. They seemed worried at the gate when I arrived. Something about a god’s warning.”

“Vakotans are superstitious. Every last thing they see, they think it is a curse from a god or a blessing from a god,” Xasan says dismissively. “Pah! I’ve seen gods. When a crow tries to steal your food, it doesn’t mean the gods are angry! It means crows like lentils and rice! The gods have their visions and their messages, but these northern fools see gods where there are none.”

Keris grins, slow and lazy. “We can use that, though.”

She stands and stretches, looking fondly at Rounen, who’s just finishing up his last page. “So, one person you _can_ show it to is Ali, to convince him I can help with Zany’s heart. Shall we go give him the good news?”

Keris started not long after daybreak, and that means the sun has already set behind the mountains to the west. The sky is still a bloody red on that horizon as the two of them make their way to the forge by the river, where Ali is still working, lit by orange firelight.

He finishes up the U-shaped bit of metal he’s working on, putting it back in the fire to heat up again, and dusts down his hands. His face is streaked with lines of sweat. “Uncle. Keris,” he says, working his shoulder as he makes his way to a water barrel and ladles himself out a drink. “Why’re you here together?”

“To show you what you asked for,” Keris replies. “You wanted proof I can heal? You have it.”

“Oh?” he asks, slopping water over his face and hair. “I’m listening.”

Keris motions proudly at Xasan, letting him show off his newly regenerated appendage.

Ali rushes in, running his hands over the hand and manipulating the joints. “You can feel this? You can move it?” he says, awed. “So that’s what you’ve been doing, shut away in there for two days.”

“Hey!” Keris objects playfully. “You know how complicated a human hand is? You know how many moving bits there are in it? _And_ I had to get it looking right. You should be impressed it only took me two days.” She preens, accepting Rounen’s quiet applause.

Something about the noise catches Ali’s attention, and he looks behind Keris to where a little creature with burning eyes and fire in its mouth waits. He casually reaches back, picking up a hammer. “Don’t. Move,” he whispers to his sister and uncle.

“Rounen,” Keris calls softly, placing a hand on his arm to stop him. “Come show yourself and say hello. Ali, Xasan, this is one of my familiars; Rounen. He’s my scribe and chef when I’m on the move, and he’s harmless.”

She pauses, thoughtfully.

“Well, okay, he’s dangerous to any small animals like rabbits or fish or wood doves,” she admits. “And a long list of other things I’ve seen him catch and eat. But he’s not dangerous to people. He likes cooking and writing and stories and food, which is why I have him take notes for me and take care of meals when I’m too busy.”

Xasan can see nothing and just looks confused. Ali is confused - and wary - for a different reason.

“That’s a demon?” he asks. “That little thing that looks like a wood elemental someone has set on fire?”

“Rounen, you can show yourself,” Keris prompts, causing Xasan to grunt in surprise as Rounen appears in a flurry of turquoise petals. Keris herself shrugs.

“He’s not from Hell,” she says. “But I suppose ‘demon’ is closer than any other word. I promise; he’s not dangerous.” Rounen trots up to her, and she squeezes his shoulder reassuringly. “Rounen, have you still got those children’s stories Sasi was reading to Aiko on you?”

“Not on me,” Rounen says, for one a little sullen. “If you remember, I put them in the library because they were getting really heavy to carry around. And no one’s found the library yet.” He pauses. “Also, don’t call me a demon. I don’t like the name. I think it’s rude. I’m just me. You can call me a spirit if you like, but not a demon.”

Keris groans. “Urgh. I really hope it’s not lost in the Rim somewhere. Last time I wanted something out of there I had headaches all day; and that was just a spear.” She sighs. “Alright, ‘spirit’ is probably a better word than ‘demon’; that I’ll agree. And the notes I made on Kuha and the owlriders would be useful for this; it’s been a while since I’ve done any work on hearts. I’ll do some meditation tonight and see if I can find them - if not, I’ll want you there tomorrow while I take another look at Zany so I can get everything down on paper and think through what I’m going to be doing.”

She glances at Ali. “If, of course; you’re happy with me healing her now that you’ve seen my skill.”

“I... I think I can accept the idea that you can heal things that no one else can,” Ali says, shaken. He glances nervously at the hand. “Unless it’s an evil devil hand with its own mind?”

“It’s not!” Rounen pipes up before Keris can. “I’ve been around Kuha for ages and ages and ages, and if the stuff mum fixed was evil she’d be all evil ‘cause mum fixed all of her, and she’s not.” He nods firmly, secure in this logic. “Even if she does like her food really bland and tasteless and boring,” he adds after a moment with the air of an old argument.

Together, the men look at Rounen. They look at Keris. They look at Rounen. They look at Keris.

“Mum?” is what Xasan chokes out, but Ali doesn’t look like he’s very far behind in that particular objection.

“Not like _that_ ,” Keris snaps. “I _said_ he wasn’t of Hell. He’s born of me and my power, so that’s what he calls me.”

That doesn’t seem to help clarify things at all, especially when Keris used the phrase ‘born of me’. Rounen doesn’t like the attention and shifts himself to hide behind Keris’ hair. Groaning and palming her face, Keris shifts her hair to better cover him. “Powerful spirits can create lesser ones to serve them,” she says. “I’m powerful and spirit-touched. So I can create lesser spirits. That’s what Rounen is.”

The mortifying conversation looks like it’s going to continue even further and possibly ask questions about exactly what Keris is giving birth to, when she hears the background noise of the village shift. There’s a cluster of loud Vakotan voices coming near. Keris can hear their swaggering gaits, their squeaking leather clothing, and the soft swish of their scarves and hats.

“ _Shit_ ,” she hisses, though under the curse there’s a vague relief that she won’t have to answer any more awkward questions. “Rounen, hide. Xasan, get back, cover your hand. There are Vakotans coming this way. Ali, what are they here for?”

He sighs, massaging his brow. “Probably picking up more nails. Nails, nails, nails. It’s easy, but so dull and they want so many of them. And they don’t pay.”

“Hmmph.” Keris narrows her eyes and shares a look with Xasan. “Want me to run them off?”

Ali looks lost. “They’ll just take it out on me - or Uncle or Zany or Hany,” he mutters.

“I keep saying, they can’t take it out on anyone if they’re all dead,” Keris mutters sullenly, but retreats into the shadows cast by the flickering forgelight along with Xasan as Rounen fades out of sight again.

There’s five of them in their leathers and their brightly coloured bits of fabric. Eko admires their taste and style from within Keris’ head, but not the fact that they’re all so tall.

She didn’t notice before, but all of them are somewhat bow-legged when walking around normally. They must live in the saddle so much that walking normally is a bit stiff.

Their talk with Ali is to the point. They ask if he’s got the buckets of nails done, he says yes and points over to the corner. Grey eyes glare out at them from the shadows, but Keris is nothing but a formless shape in the gloom; her outline broken up by artfully positioned hair, with nothing to gleam or glint on her person. The Vakotans are completely unaware of her watching them as they swagger around like they own the place.

And then things go off script. Keris recognises one of the Vakotans - it’s the woman from the gate who she made back down. And she’s seen Xasan.

“What’re you doing here, old cripple?” she demands of Xasan. “Stop hidin’ back here like you think you got something to hide.”

Xasan steps forwards, stooped over, hand tucked up in his jacket. “Just visiting my nephew,” he says. Keris can hear the little shakes of anger in his voice.

“What, you here to lend him a hand?” she jeers.

The others join in.

“Handy man to have around?”

“Don’t know what use a fat old cripple would be.”

And then the woman from the gate steps forwards, one hand on her cavalry sabre. “I heard the pregnant bitch with the red hair and the scorpion hair went into your place. What’re you doing with her, handyman?”

“Being visited. By his niece.”

The voice is hard, unfriendly, and comes from _directly behind them_.

The woman from the gate whirls, half-drawing her sabre. Her dog growls, low and fierce. A tuft of shaggy black hair is poking out from under the headscarf she wears under her broad-brimmed hat. The bloody sky paints the lower part of her face red.

“So, it’s you, scorpion-haired bitch,” she says, spitting on the ground. “You’re from this family. Shows why you ain’t got no respect.” She doesn’t look away from Keris. “This’s the one I talked about. She only got to keep her hand ‘cause I dreamed about a woman with scorpions for her and her freaky hair curled up on me.” She snarls, showing yellowing teeth. “But I saw a scorpion eaten by a bird today, so the gods don’t think I need to be wary no more.”

((... aaaand Temperance 2 to keep her temper when provoked. 2 sux! Yay! Keris does not punch the bitch.))

“Don’t you?” Keris asks sweetly. “Well, my dreams were about many things, and came from sources stronger than any of your gods. But you weren’t important enough to appear in them. So I’ll be generous, and let you and your friends walk away on both legs with no broken bones and all your weapons unbloodied.” She pauses for just a moment before finishing, smiling up at the taller woman without a trace of fear. “As long as you apologise to my uncle, of course.”

((Per + Pres against her MDV, -5 external penalty for being tiny, visibly heavily pregnant, and not obviously armed. You’re basically trying to persuade her that you can hit her “Survive” Principle.))  
((I mean, I’m not going to complain if I fail. It’s as much goad as genuine threat. : 3  
3+5+2 stunt=10. Not even gonna both with ExD here; I’m willing to accept her backing off if I happen to roll super-high but I’m kind of hoping she goes for it. Yup, 2 sux rolled. Didn’t even overcome the penalty.))

The Vakotans just break out laughing. “Look at her,” one of them guffaws. He’s actually crying. “She’s so tiny and she’s nearly round. She probably can’t even pick up something she drops, she’s so baby-fat!”

The woman looks down at Keris. “You got a sharp mouth on you,” she says. “Pity this ain’t like wherever you’re from. I’ll be generous,” she says, trying to mock Keris’ Nexan accent, “and if you clean my boots for me, we won’t give you a beating just like we did your fat uncle.”

“Please, please, can we just calm things down?” Ali tries.

((... uh, she got 5 successes on 6 dice to try to intimidate Keris and persuade her that the only way to escape violence is to back down and that she should be scared of them and what they could do.))  
((Alas, Keris’s MDV is 7 for this sort of thing, and she’s additionally got Mortals Are Fragile backing her up, on top of whatever external penalty the Vakotan is suffering for the fact that, uh, Keris knows exactly what the relative balance of power is here, and it’s not in her favour.))  
((o dear))

Keris chuckles along with them, sharing the joke. “Yeah, my brother’s right,” she says. “We should calm this down. But I’m not cleaning your boots, since they’re stained with all the shit you’re spewing, and you just refused my offer.”

She loses the smile, and her hair begins to spread out behind her and curl over into scorpion-tails. “So drop the weapons and beg or make a move, bitch.”

They don’t all move. They just step back to watch - and the tall bitch doesn’t even draw her sabre. That probably means she doesn’t want to kill Keris - just give her a beating. She takes off her hat, passing it to one of her allies, and also hands them her scarf. She knows enough fist-fighting to know how to avoid getting choked, at least.

“Break some teeth, Enkhtuyaa,” one of them shouts.

“Punch her in her baby-fat belly,” shouts another.

She squares herself up to Keris, fists raised. A crack of sunlight streaming down from between two mountains illuminates the street, casting long shadows as the clouds to the west clear for a moment.

The woman lunges forward with a straight jab to the pregnant chit’s jaw to knock her down... except that Keris’s jaw isn’t there. The blow whistles past her head with inches to spare, somehow missing at the last second as Keris takes a tiny step forward. A second punch misses by just as close a margin and brings Keris even closer; inside Enkhtuyaa’s range. The innocent smile is back on Keris’s face, and it infuriates the Vakotan as she tries to knee Keris in the stomach. A spinning dodge takes her harmlessly out of the way of that, too, and around behind the woman. One hand flashes back to pull the cavalry sabre from its sheath, and the weapon vanishes into her long red hair.

The cheeky theft very nearly costs her as Enkhtuyaa snarls and spins around with a kick at head level. Keris doesn’t show it, but the close margin of the miss this time is very real - she only just ducks in time. And that’s when she gets serious and takes control of the match. The next punch is caught by a hair tendril and engulfed. The tendril yanks, and the woman goes spinning off balance - easy prey for a brutal fist to the nose, followed by an elbow to the solar plexus. Taking advantage of her longer reach, Keris extends her lock straight out, yanking the arm backwards - and as the Vakotan stumbles back to avoid her shoulder dislocating, she uses the space to unleash a vicious kick to the midsection.

The breath and fight goes out of Enkhtuyaa completely, but Keris isn’t quite finished. A sickening _crack_ comes from the trapped wrist as she grabs the woman with three more tendrils and both hands. Spinning her once in a full circle, Keris uses the momentum to hurl her back towards her friends; too fast and sudden for them to dodge.

Coming to a stop, she pulls the sabre out of her hair and flips it over, examining it casually with an air of nonchalance. There isn’t a scratch or bruise on her.

They don’t rush forwards. They instead back off, and then there are the whispers.

“God.” “Demon.” “Dragonkin.” “Chosen.” “Sunchild.”

Of course, they’re mercenaries down in Taira. There are all kinds of things they might have seen. Two of them are bowing before her, faces flat on the dirt. They’re now bows of obedience - they’re bows of supplication and fear; bows of please-don’t-kill-me.

Keris cocks her head clinically, looking down at them. “See,” she says casually, “if you’d taken my offer in the first place, this would’ve gone a lot easier for you. Or if you’d listened to my brother and calmed down.” Spurred by the thought, she glances over at Ali and Xasan to judge their reaction. “She’ll live,” she adds, as an afterthought. “And keep the hand, which is more than she might have deserved. Who _did_ cut off my uncle’s, out of interest?”

There are nervous glances between them.

“It was the one they call Ganzorig,” Xasan says, eyes aflame with unholy glee. “He’s the son of the one who leads this rabble.”

((He has decided that he _really likes_ his niece, hasn’t he?))  
((Well, after all, she is showing the side that resembles her mother))

“Huh,” she says, watching an immaterial Rounen scribble that detail down along with a no-doubt-glowing retelling of the fight. “I’ll be sure to remember that. And maybe pay him a visit tomorrow. But for now...”

She stretches. “What to do with _you_ all? Ali? Your house, your rules. Should I be merciful?”

He freezes up. Keris can read him. Her brother doesn’t like conflict. He’s not like her - or much like their uncle, either. He wants to be rid of the Vakotans, but he doesn’t want the consequences of them dying. He’d prefer them here making everyone miserable than what he fears would happen if someone got rid of them.

She sighs. “Fine, fine. Mercy it is. You lot; weapons on the ground. I’ll be taking those, since you waved them at me. Then go run on back to the leader of your rabble and tell him what happened here. And remember, before you get any funny ideas, what I’ll do to you all if any member of this family is harmed.”

Her smile is not a friendly one, and her hair still moves in shifting coils behind her. “Understand?”

((Intending to install a Principle of Terror at the thought of gaining her ire by hurting her kin.))

“Understood,” one of the men bowing down says, head bobbing up and down. “W-we understand. Wh-what are you, l-lady? A g-god?”

Keris lets the question hang in the air for a moment. Enkhtuyaa’s pained groans are background noise as she lets them sweat.

“A homecomer,” she says eventually. “Now, go.”

They flee the scene, half-carrying the woman with them.

“That was wonderful to see,” Xasan says, folding his arms in front of himself. “Really does me good. Don’t know why you let them live, but... oh well. Time for that later.”

“If we’re lucky,” Ali says pointedly. “We won’t always be. What happens when they wait for you to head off again, Keris? Oh spirits and gods above, they’re going to remember this.”

“To be honest,” Keris says frankly, “I’m not sure how I feel about heading off and leaving you here in the first place. Even if I hadn’t given them a kicking... I don’t ever want to come back here for a visit and find a burned village and a story about a slave raid like Uncle did. Nobody provoked that; it wasn’t revenge for anything. It was just because the village couldn’t stop them and they wanted wealth and slaves.”

She tosses the cavalry sabre onto the pile of weapons the Vakotans abandoned, and moves closer to Ali. “I only just got you back, big brother,” she says more quietly. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

“Hah!” Xasan’s mood won’t be deflated. “She’s the one who got everything from Maryam! I wondered why you weren’t more like her! But it’s because they split their essence between the two of you! She got the higherlander blood - you got the Tairan blood.”

“My mother,” Ali snapped back, “was a teenager when she went off to seek her fortune here. I’m not! I have a sick wife and a young child! This is just another one of your attempts to get me to go back to the highlands with you!”

“And you should!”

It seems to be an old argument.

“You could, uh...” Keris starts, and coughs awkwardly. “You could come with me instead. Not to, uh... not to where my powers are from. Down to the Southwest. I’ll heal Zany’s sickness before I even think of going, and I could... set you up there, if you came. You’d be safe, you’d be...”

She bites her lip for a moment and clears her throat, forcing a nonchalant smile. “Anyway, just a thought. I’m not saying you need to... anyway, I’ll, um, I’ll look at Zany tomorrow. Extra-carefully. And teach Kuha and Rounen some more spear drills tonight. And stay close in case the Vakotans come back - Xasan, you might want to stay here too?”

((oh, keris~))

Ali holds his head in his hands. “I’ll just clean up for the day,” he moans. “I can’t work like this. I’m shaking too much.” He goes to recover the metal he put in the fire, while Xasan approaches Keris, pulling her aside.

“Your brother is ruled by his nerves,” he says bluntly, making sure that Ali can’t hear them. “He worries about everything and never takes anything he thinks is a risk.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know how he came out as such a coward. He won’t do anything to change his life unless you force him into it.”

“He might have got the better hand,” Keris shrugs. “I’d have been dead long before taking the Second Breath if not for Rat holding me back and telling me when not to charge into things.” She chews a hair tendril idly as it curves up to her face. “I really don’t want to leave him here when I go, though,” she adds. “Any of you. You’re too... too vulnerable.”

She shrinks in on herself, taking a turn for a miserable. “You know, I could kill every Vakotan in this town. You believe that now, I think. Between my speed and my spear there’s not much that can pin me down and kill me, and you’d think that should make me fearless. Instead, it just means I have to worry about the people I care about who _can’t_ survive an army.”

Xasan seems inspired by the idea of dead Vakotans, but Keris isn’t in the mood to talk further and so she heads inside. She’s just about in time to help put her niece to bed, and she gets a “Goo’ight Aunty Ke’is,” out of this, which makes her go all gooey in the centre.

Zany takes her aside and sits her down on some pillows. “So what was that noise outside?” she asks. “I d-didn’t want to look, but someone screamed.”

“Was it those wretched horsemen again?” Zany asks, lips thin. “I hate them. They’ve made our lives a misery since they showed up - and they bully poor Ali. Even if he did stand up to them, they’d just cut him down in the street. And he was so upset by what they did to Xasan.”

“It... was the Vakotans, yes,” Keris says awkwardly. “I, ah. Ran them off to stop them bullying Xasan.”

“Good. They deserve everything that’s coming to them. I hope they get reborn as... as slugs or snails or something like that!”

Keris grins. “Well, getting humiliated by a tiny barehanded pregnant woman in front of four friends is a good start. If they come back and make trouble again I’ll start breaking heads. Now, lie down and let me examine you again. Ali’s accepted I can heal you, but I want to be extra-careful when I do, and that means knowing exactly what I’m going to be doing down to the smallest twitch before I start.”

“He has? You can?” Zany gulps, and takes a deep, slow breath that’s clearly a response to how squeaky she was.

“Yes, and you can ask him what convinced him if he thinks it won’t shock you too much, but first I need to take a closer look at you,” Keris says reassuringly. “Just lie back, close your eyes and try to keep quiet. I need to listen to the murmur and work out how big it is and where.”

She’s not lying. She does listen to the murmur, as well as giving Zanyira a massage to relax her properly and check her blood pressure. She talks quietly as she works; first a simple monologue about how she’s encouraging blood circulation that never deviates from a soothing tone, and then a steady list of symptoms and medical language that rapidly goes far beyond the understanding of any simple villager. Once she’s sure that Zanyira is half-dozing, Keris slips a few root-tendrils in to probe the edges of the hole, continuing her dictation for Rounen as she moves onto more specific particulars.

Now that she can put her roots in to really feel out the problem, Keris carefully describes the shape of the hole and its nature to Rounen. It’s such a little thing - smaller than a fingernail, at least when Zany is calm and sleepy like this. There’s scarring around the edges, too - if Keris had to estimate, it tears itself open a little more periodically, probably whenever her heart beats faster. There’s quite a bit of scarring that’s recent, and then a big section that’s three years old.

If Keris had to guess, the pregnancy shifted her from “frail and often ill” to her current state, where she simply can’t do a lot of things and on top of that, the stress from the Vakotans might literally be killing her. If Keris hadn’t been here, her cousin might have been permanently bedridden in a year or so.

Otherwise, her cousin isn’t in great shape. She’s too thin for someone of her natural build, and she’s lost weight recently. Her muscle tone is poor and worsening - she probably couldn’t exercise much as her condition detoirated, and as it stands she’s simply unhealthily frail. At least she’s free of internal parasites and the like - it looks like the local herbalist knows what they’re doing, or maybe the monks up on the mountain.

All in all, it takes about half an hour for Keris to finish talking, leaving Zanyira asleep and Rounen with half a dozen sheets of paper covered in small writing on both sides, as well as a few pictures Keris contributed with a hair-tendril. Thanking him with some well-deserved praise and a kiss to the forehead, she accepts the notes and lets him dive back into her hair to get some sleep.

Keris herself retires downstairs and out to the riverside to look over what she’s compiled and think things through.

The mountain air is chill. Ali is out there under the waning moon - now barely a sliver in the sky - with a steaming clay mug of something and his fishing rod out. He’s got his feet up on a barrel, and he looks... happy. Happier than perhaps she’s ever seen him before, in this unguarded moment, alone under the starry sky.

It’s quiet enough out here that Keris can hear most of the village individually, the flow of the river, and the movement of the big mountain fish in the water. She curls herself up around her twins a little way away from him and lets the comfortable silence sit. For a while, the only immediate sounds are the rustling of her papers and the occasional plop of his fishing line.

“I took another look at Zany,” she says after a while, gesturing with the notes. “This time next week she can be back to full health again; if a bit weak from lack of exercise.”

The silence stretches out.

“Why do you want to show me up as useless?” he asks, softly.

If Keris had been breathing, it would have stuttered. As it is, the only sign of the ice trickling down her back is the sudden cessation of movement.

“... I didn’t get this power because I did something to earn it,” she answers after a moment of frozen turbulence. “I’m not a goddess or a hero or destined to save Creation or anything. I made a bargain with demons and now I can kill anything you put in front of me and heal things that any other doctor would give up on and get into places nobody’s been able to crack for centuries. There’s no plan. There’s no rules for what I can or can’t do with those skills. That’s how this power works.”

She shakes her head. “I’m not trying to show you up as useless. I swear, Ali, I’m not. Yeah, I can do a lot of things you can’t; I won’t pretend otherwise, but...” she shakes her head. “Chosen are like that. They’re not fair. _We’re_ not fair. If I’ve got all this power and no guide for what I should do with it, I want to use it to help out my family - not to show anyone up, just because that’s at least a use that seems worthy.”

“You can regrow hands. Uncle Xasan basically raised me, and I couldn’t do a thing when they took his hand and he retreated in on himself,” he says miserably. “You can repair hearts and save Zany and no matter what I did and no matter how much I prayed she kept getting sicker and sicker. You’re tiny and pregnant and yet that woman two heads taller than you couldn’t even touch you.”

He sighs. “You got that power by signing a contract with Hell. But it’s still power that can do things I never could and... and I don’t want Zany to die and Uncle has been getting so upset and... and what if Hell has a claim on them? But I don’t want to lose them! I’m just a man. What can I do when Hell offers my wife and uncle things through my sister?”

Keris is quiet for a moment.

“If you tell me to leave, I’ll leave,” she says in a small voice. “If you really want Hell out of your lives, I’ll do everything I can to help you and give you the tools to stop something bad happening when I’m gone a-and then I’ll go. I don’t want to - and I don’t think I could if I didn’t do as much as possible to make sure you wouldn’t get hurt by the next raid or the next war or the next group of mercenaries. But you have power over me, Ali. Contract or not, I’m still a child of Creation. I still care about people. The ones I love still have a hold over me. More of one now than ever; I think.”

She sighs. “And if it makes you feel any better, Dulmea didn’t want me to tell you anything. Or help you. Or even interact with you, I think. We had to fight over it, until I convinced her otherwise. It’ll be a while before we’re as close again, and that kills me a bit inside.”

“I don’t want _you_ gone. You’re my sister,” he says. “Even if you talk like a Nexan and even if you’ve been places I never will... this is still where you belong. But... but you come back and throw things into chaos and show off your power in front of the Vakotans and...”

He takes a deep gasping breath. “Uncle will want to use that power to destroy the Vakotans,” he says softly. “It’s why they cut his hand off in the first place. He kept on annoying the lords again and again. He doesn’t think I know that he was killing their tax collectors, but I know. I tried to warn him about the ill fate he was storing up for himself with how he drifted their bodies downriver - and thought himself so clever for tricking their hungry ghosts - but he wouldn’t listen. He never listens. He can’t see the spirits and he doesn’t respect then, Keris! He’ll accept anything Hell offers him, and think himself clever for it. I want to protect him even from himself and I want to protect you and I want to save Zany but...” He wraps his arms around himself. “I’m a coward. I always have been,” he whispers. “It keeps you alive, but it means you’re scared all the time. ‘Course I’m scared of Hell. But I’m scared of men too and... and when we were younger, before she was ill, Zany used to make fun of me because I was too scared to climb trees like her and she’d take you up the trees... clambering up like a little monkey, you were... and I’m... I’m weak and I can’t help anyone I love. I can’t save you from Hell, I can’t save Zany from her illness and I couldn’t save Uncle from himself!”

Keris doesn’t need super-sharp ears to hear the misery there. But those same ears means she does hear his muttered, “I can never save anyone. Ever.”

((Keris detects his 4 dot principle of “Survivor’s Guilt”.))

She shifts over to give him a hug.

“I couldn’t save Rat,” she whispers hoarsely. “Even _with_ this power, I couldn’t; I wasn’t _there_ when he vanished. You’d have liked him, I think. He acted confident and charming, but he was cautious underneath. He was the one who held me back from charging in and getting my head smashed in by a brick. And I could never get out of Nexus, either. Even when I had money; I just lost it all again instead of using it. You’re not the only one who’s scared of their loved ones getting hurt when they can’t stop it, or of things changing in ways they can’t predict. I just wasn’t given a choice about the second part.”

Frowning, she reconsiders that. “Or... I guess I was,” she amends. “But I _knew_ that choosing ‘no’ was worse than anything ‘yes’ might mean. Maybe that was being stupid and not respecting how bad a bargain with a spirit might be... but it’s basically the same choice you’ve got now. You know what happens if you stay here, more or less. It’s how things have been for years. I know that what I’m offering is scary, but isn’t the thought of Hany growing up with those Vakotan bastards in charge scary as well? At some point you have to... to take a leap of faith.”

Squeezing him closer, Keris stands up.

“Sleep on it,” she advises. “I’ll heal Zany. I’ll promise - I’ll _swear_ to you - that I’m making no claim on her in doing so; for Hell or for me. Talk to her when she’s better, tell her however much you think is wise, and see what she thinks.”

Silent tears leak from Ali’s eyes - a man reduced to tears by his little sister’s words and his own fears.

The next morning, Keris is up bright and early, and after a brief explanation to Ali takes Kuha and Rounen out hunting. Or, more specifically, she takes them out _finding_. Her objective is live prey - deer, mostly; as delicate creatures with good-sized hearts. The two of them herd several her way, who she captures, and then begins to work on while her students practice spear drills.

It’s _hard_ work, opening a hole in the heart of a living deer and then closing it without killing the animal. But it’s good practice. Deer are more prone to shock than humans - even weak, fragile humans like Zany. If Keris can pull this operation off on a panicky animal without harming it; she should be able to handle Zany with more of a margin of comfort. And she’ll also be forewarned about anything that might unexpectedly go wrong.

She speeds up dramatically after the first one - which takes all damn day - and by noon on the second day of her practice, she’s more or less got the operation down cold. Triumphant and tired - though not hungry thanks to Rounen - she returns to catch some sleep before the big event.

Calesco does not entirely approve of using deer for medical experiments, but since Keris does bring the meat back to the village for people to eat she basically contents herself with a dull muttering.

After a long and relaxing afternoon and night, Keris is up bright and early. She decides on working in Zany’s room, where she’ll be most relaxed, and shoos everyone else outside while she works. Soothing the woman with firm reassurances and encouraging words, she bades her lie back on her bed and close her eyes; breathing in the pattern Keris shows her.

The root-tendrils slip in, and Keris falls into an almost trance-state of concentration. Rounen’s voice quietly reads from her notes as a reminder, and she can feel Calesco watching avidly from Dulmea’s tower, but neither break the clear, bright focus as she pulls and pushes heart-muscle back together, smooths scarring down into healthy flesh and massages weak limbs and illness-ridden organs back into health. Zany won’t be running and climbing trees again as soon as she rises - she still has a lot of weight to gain back and a lot of muscle tone to recover - but Keris can get her started.

A little over an hour later, a weary but not particularly tired Keris opens the door to her waiting, pacing, nervous brother, uncle and niece. Her serious face holds only a moment before splitting into a cheek-splitting smile.

“It’s done,” she says. “Make sure she follows...” she waves a Rounen-penned list of instructions, “these rules to the letter. Lots of food, lots of exercise, some massages to help her bloodflow settle into a healthy pattern now her heart’s working again. But she’s in the clear now. All that’s left is recovery.”

Ali of course rushes in to cradle her, which gets him mildly swatted away. “I’m fine,” she says with fond irritation. “You don’t need to wrap me up in a blanket. She just did weird things with her hair and it felt like how you feel like when you’re sewing up a tear - no, that doesn’t mean it hurt, dear. It was just a bit of an ache. Although I couldn’t feel my heart beating when she was sewing it back together, but it’s back now.”

“Are you sure? Well, maybe you should spend the rest of the day in bed to make sure and...”

“I’ve spent enough time in bed over the past few years, dear,” Zany says, with a note in her voice which suggests pushing the point will liable to get her annoyed. “I think we need to test it, while she’s still around. Perhaps you and I can go for a walk together.” She glances at Keris. “I can trust you to entertain Hany while me and your brother have a... talk?”

Keris waves assurance; happy to spend time with her niece. “How’d you like to hear the story of how a princess tried to build a castle?” she asks Hanilyia in a conspiratorial tone.

Hany gives the question due consideration. “I saw a castle!” she announces. “It’s there!” she clarifies, pointing towards the end of the valley. The fact that there’s a wall in the way does not appear to prevent her sense of direction from working.

“Well, this one was meant to be a special castle,” Keris confides. “But the princess couldn’t decide how she wanted it. On the first day, she decided she wanted it to be as tall as the tallest trees, with great big towers of white stone...”

She keeps talking as the child’s parents leave; determinedly keeping her ears - as best she can - to herself.

((keris, stop turning haneyl’s attempts to build three different castles in one into a funny children’s story about a princess who couldn’t decide what she wanted her castle to look like : P))


	5. Chapter 5

Keris has a very enjoyable morning with her niece. Hany is a sweet and friendly little girl, and far less prickly than her sort-of-namesake. She very intentionally and deliberately shows Keris several types of flower she's found, then explains in depth the name of each of her rag dolls and who's on the ins and outs with her and how Lila is fighting with Roulya and that's naughty of them, but Lila is the worst behaved of her dolls.

... okay, maybe that bit does resemble Haneyl a little more than Keris is comfortable with.

Apart from one break to order Kuha and an immaterial Rounen through a set of early morning spear drills, Keris humours her indulgently. It's not that she doesn't adore her children, but there's something comparatively easy and effortless about interacting with a perfectly human child who can't warp the landscape and doesn't have dozens of underlings to rule over. Hanilyia has more than a few questions about her own children, too, and the happiness that comes with talking about them makes Keris understand Sasi's focus on Aiko a little better.

When Keris' cousin and brother come back, Zany's headscarf is covering up mussed hair and her back is wet with snow, and Ali is looking more than a little sheepish.

“Mama, mama, mama,” Hany chirps as she runs towards Zany and seems about to jump on her before she pauses. “Are you going to go lie down again now mama?”

Laughing, Zany sweeps her up in her arms. “No, not until bedtime.”

“But it's always your bedtime.”

Zany looks rueful. “From the mouths of babes,” she says wryly to Keris as she sits down, bouncing her daughter on her lap. “So, we had a talk and he said a bit about what he wasn't talking to me about. I knew we all had some spirit-blood - and you two had more because Xasan says you get it from both sides of the family - and I just thought you'd inherited more power. But no, it's not a question of inheritance, is it?”

“... well, it's sort of an inheritance,” Keris offers weakly. “But you're right, it's not from spirit-blood. How, uh... how much did he tell you, exactly?”

“He said you'd made a pact with the spirits and let one into your body,” Zany says.

Ali contrives to look even more sheepish.

“Goodness,” Dulmea murmurs in Keris' head. “It looks like the 'lying by not quite saying everything' trait runs in the blood.”

“That... is more or less accurate, yes,” Keris agrees. “She intervened when I was...”

She pauses, glances at Hanilyia and edits her language downwards. “... in a very bad situation because I'd done something stupid, and bestowed power on me. In return, she became part of me - an advisor and guide. And just recently I found out Baisha still existed and where it was, so... here I am, to help.”

((I am laughing my ass off at that, btw.))

Zany shakes her head. “You always hear about people welcoming the gods into their bodies to fight some evil - or wicked ghosts creeping into the skin of sinners - but that's just stories. You never expect that sort of thing in real life.”

Keris winces. “Yeah. Well, I didn't expect it either, but I wasn't left with much choice given where I was,” she mutters. “Regardless, I didn't know you'd be here when I came looking. Until my contact told me there were still people living here I honestly thought it would be a burned-out ruin, from what I remembered, and you and Ali blindsided me completely. The original reason I came was to try and track where our parents were taken from the start of the trail - uh, mine and Ali's, though I can look for yours too if they were taken. That's still my plan, but... first I need to decide on what to do here before I set off upriver.” She hesitates. “ _We_ need to decide, I suppose. It's as much your choice as mine.”

Quite deliberately, Zany picks up her daughter and passes her off to Ali, gathering up her dolls. “Why don't you tell Daddy about what you and Aunty Keris did?” she says. “Now, hmm.” She sits closer to Keris. “So, what are your current plans? I suppose I should ask you what you want to do, first, before we impose.”

“Hah,” Keris says dryly. “Family, imposing on a search for family. Right.” She looks at Zany - looks at her hard, remembering the girl who urged her up into the trees as her brother watched. “Look, bluntly?” she says. “I spent two years as a slave and then twelve more on the streets with barely any memory of my family, wishing I had one. I just got you back, and I don't want to lose you again. Especially to something stupid and petty and weak like a few fat-headed drawling mercenaries that I could wipe out in an afternoon. But my work and my home are on the other side of Creation, and if I leave you here - even if I take a month or two to train everyone up to fight like d... like experts - I still risk coming back at some point and finding the same thing Xasan did.”

She ponders the issue for a moment and scowls. “I don't want to leave you where something I could stop if I were _there_ could hurt you. But... I'm not going to pretend that what I'll be doing upriver will be pretty work; it'd be no place for Hany even if the three of you could keep up.” She chews a hair-tendril. “I want you safe, and I guess ideally I'd want you somewhere near me once I've finished this search and gone back to the Southwest, but I'm... I'm not willing to abandon my parents before I even try to find them.”

“You'd take us away from this place?” Zany asks softly. “Out of this place that's tearing itself apart with stupid war between fat, arrogant lords who don't give a flying,” she looks at Hany, “... sheet about us except as things to tax and pull off to their wars?”

“Zany,” Ali says, placating.

“No, curse that! I don't want to watch Hany grow up here knowing that they could come for us just like they did for our parents.” She takes a shuddering breath. “I told you before that when I... I died, I wanted you to get Hany out of here and seek a new life elsewhere! This way at least I get to be with you when we do it!”

Keris lights up. “If you want to come, I will get you out even if I have to... I will find a way to get you to the Southwest, no matter what. I'll have to think about how, but I'll do it. I promise.”

“We can't be so hasty,” Ali says firmly. “We can't just drag people off into seeking revenge to-”

“Who said anything about revenge?” Zany counters. “All we need to care about is the future. Xasan can stew like the bitter old man he is, but I'd rather we just get out of here and find somewhere else. You're a smith and I'm young - and now I'm well. People will want smiths outside of this rotten country.”

“She's right; they do,” Keris confirms. “Getting you there will be tricky, though. There are... maybe three ways to do it. The first route is... uh...” She glances at Ali “... not really an option. I know how I'd do it if I were alone, but you can't travel the way I do; practically nobody can. So I guess the best normal route would be... maybe a caravan down the Great Glass Road and catch a ship from Harborhead?”

“I've looked at maps,” Zany says, a little dreamily. “I managed to salvage one from the fire. It's covering all of Creation. It doesn't look very far to go down the river - and then there'd be Nexus - and from that, from Nexus you're meant to be able to get anywhere.”

“I'd be going downriver too...” Keris says thoughtfully. “But Nexus is Guild-controlled now, I don't know what's happened to it since the collapse of the Council. It'd lengthen the sailing time, too. You're talking thousands of miles; months of travel without shortcuts.”

“Oh, is it that far?” Zany looks crestfallen. “Is the world that big?”

“The world is vast, cousin,” Keris tells her. “And I'll try to help you see it if you want to, but... yes, it's a month or more by river just to Nexus using mortal means. Me and Kuha cheat.”

“See,” Ali interjects. “I'm sorry,” he tells Keris, “but she's always had these dreams - and I've tried to tell her that everything's harder and more difficult than she likes to think.”

“...” says Keris. “I... did say using mortal means. Me and Kuha got here from the Yanaze in a few days. And there are ways to cross Creation in ten, just not... entirely, perfectly safe ones with a good reputation. It depends what you're willing to steer close to en route.”

“Don't even think of taking them near there,” Calesco snaps in Keris' head.  
  
“But you're planning to take us with you?” Zany asks, eyes gleaming. “Off to foreign lands with you and your funny little bodyguard?”

((So, if you really want to swear that as an oath, you _can_ dramatically stunt-learn Ancient and Firstborn here...))  
((yaaaay~))  
((Stunt required to stunt-learn, naturally.))

Keris straightens, looking Zany in the eye. “I said I will find a way to get you to the Southwest, and **I _will_** ,” she says, and her words resonate; hollow and sonorous with the echoes of many in one voice. “ **As long as you want to come with me, I will do everything in my power to get you, Ali, Hany and Xasan out of Taira and across Creation; safe and unharmed, to a new life in the Southwest.** I may not be able to be with you for every step of the journey, but **I _swear_ to you; _I will see it done_.** ”

The force of the vow grips the very air. She can feel it write itself onto her bones; carve itself into her very soul. She has, Keris suspects, just taken a new power into herself.

“... and I don't think that's a vow I can break, now,” she adds shakily. “So it's a good thing I meant it.”

Ali gasps. “You... you meant that, didn't you?” he asks. “The way you said it. It sounded... weird.”

Keris coughs, tries to picture leaving them in Baisha and yells, almost falling over. “Yes,” she gasps. “Yes, damn, _ow_ , I meant it. **I'll get you out of Taira or die trying, if you want to go.** ” Her voice takes on an echo of the reverb she first spoke it in as she repeats the promise, and the blinding bone-deep ache that struck at the merest thought of breaking it dissipates immediately.

“I... I don't know what to say,” Ali says.

“I know what to say. I'd say 'yes',” Zany counters. “What's there to lose? Really?”

“Everyone else we know. The whole village!” he counters, leaning over Hany.

“They weren't chained here by being sick for years. They could have left,” she counters hotly.

“Where?” Keris points out. “I don't know what's west of here, but to the east there's a bunch of forts and a lot of unfriendly soldiers.” She groans and lifts a hand to her temple. “Getting... ugh, getting four people out of here is different to getting several hundred, though. Much, much harder.”

“People have been drifting out for years - or going up to their relatives in the hillfolk,” Zany counters. 

“You're always so harsh on-”

“Am I?”

Keris lets them argue for a few moments, struggling to reconcile the voices arguing _inside_ her head from the ones arguing _outside_ it.  Her inner conflict isn't resolved easily. She decides to sleep on it - and she'll need to talk to Xasan too.

Unfortunately events catch up with her. Late that afternoon, the clatter of scale armour catches her attention. It's happening in unison, and the Vakotans don't wear scale. It sounds like maybe ten people, and it's getting closer.

She frowns from where she's meditating and rises, strolling out of the forge to meet whatever it is before it reaches Ali's home. Could the Vakotans have gone and got Beik soldiers to back them up?

It's got colder, and there's a faint patter of snow falling from the sky. There's a patrol of horsemen approaching up the street, their scale wrapped up in layers of cloth and their helmets lined in fur. Two of them are heavily armoured, but the others are equipped more lightly. Still, all of them carry long spears and have sheathed swords.

They're very much not Vakotans, even though something in their weapons seems similar. But they don't dress like them. Keris's eyes flash green as she looks at them, measuring their natures. They're all but mortal men and women, nothing more.

She grins, happy to have something to take out her tension on. These are, she suspects, probably Beik soldiers called in by the Vakotans she beat. Checking that Rounen is still tagging along unseen behind her - he is, complete with a little faux-spear made from a straightish Swamp branch - Keris steps out to meet them in her favourite red dress. Or a variant of it adapted for her pregnancy, at least.

“Afternoon,” she says pleasantly. “You folks seem lost. The war's that way, if you missed it.” She gestures eastwards with a helpful smile.

“You are the mysterious lady of Baisha?” asks the lead armoured figure. They're a woman, but even Keris wasn't sure until she spoke. She's a giant of a woman, wrapped up in her furs and armour and the horses are making enough noise that Keris found it hard to tell the difference. “The one who had these Vakotan rabble running?”

Keris pauses, reevaluating. “... I am,” she agrees slowly. “You sound like you think that's a good thing.” She hesitates again as a name heard a few weeks ago blows into mind on Ekoan winds. “If you do... are you linked to this Red Valah woman I've heard about?”

The woman shakes her head. “No, that's just a tale.” She clears her throat. “Naib Agemi Beik politely extends an invitation to you to dine with him. He is distressed that an individual of your personal prowess did not present themselves to him when you entered his lands, and further apologises for any unknowing insult he may have offered which leads you to shun him. He does not wish violence with one that the Vakotan priest says is certainly a champion of some god, or perhaps even a Prince of the Earth.”

Keris's lips purse slowly. “Naib Ishmael's brother,” she muses, remembering what Xasan told her. “I see.” She eyes the column, considering briefly whether the 'I'm frail and heavily pregnant and shouldn't travel far in cold such as this' excuse might work.

... ten armed soldiers; two of them heavy cavalry, says probably not. Alas.

She leaves the 'I see' hanging in the air, considering what her company would be worth to them - and to the naib.

Her presence means very little to any of the people here. They're just following orders - and it doesn't seem to be worth their lives. By contrast, at least her presence seems moderately valuable to the naib, from the way it's phrased.

((The armoured lady considers it Resources 1 - it's just her pay for the day. By contrast, it's worth Resources 3 to the naib - it's a thing of interest, but he wouldn't consider it worth a fortune.))

“I'm afraid I have to say no,” she says, making a decision. “I've only just found my hometown again and still have a lot of catching up to do now that I'm back. Seventeen years is a long time.”

Let the naib chew on that. If he matches the dates up right, it should make him sweat a little.

The woman stirs, tilting her head. “Is that the message you wish me to convey to the naib?” she asks. “He offers you an open hand now, to avoid conflict. Do you wish to insult him and show him such disrespect?”

Keris raises an eyebrow. “Does _he_ want to insult _me_ by taking me away from a reunion?” she asks. “Seventeen years ago his brother's mercenaries sacked this village and sold its people as plunder. His own Vakotan rabble strike old men down in the street and then beat their wives bloody, or attack what they think to be a defenceless expecting mother. You say the naib wishes no violence between us? Convey _this_ message back to him: I have been _restrained_ so far in offering it, for what I've seen of his work.”

The woman nods her head. “Very well. I doubt he'll like it - but that's the way of these hill lords, isn't it?” She tugs down the cloth covering her face, and Keris can see she's got a wry smile that almost detracts from the claw marks that cover the left side of her face. “He might have us hired, but if you plan to use whatever witchcraft you have against him, we don't like him enough to take a god-curse.”

((Yeah, she's being genuine there. Keris recalls that most of the soldiers fighting in Taira these days are either mercenaries or conscripts - and these armoured figure are all really too well equipped to be conscripts. They're probably only loyal to him because he's paying their wages.))

Keris nods with rather less unspoken threat hovering around her like a mantle. “I'll take quarter from mercenaries, if he pushes it,” she promises. “And the naib isn't the only one with funds.”

The other armoured woman also tugs down her mouth covering. She's younger, but the jaw looks similar. Keris thinks they might be sisters, or at least cousins. “Oh? Because we're listening - if you really are as powerful as the Vakotan savages say and you have a grudge against the Beiks, we might be looking for a new employer.”

Keris hums thoughtfully. “I'm still planning on exactly what course to take, but send a scout down here in a few days and I might have an offer.” Pieces of a plan start to fit together in her mind - she needs to talk to Xasan, she decides.

Lazily, the scarred woman waves in farewell. “I'm Salma, called by some the She-Wolf, and this is my sister Jahanara. We're both of the Hegum family, and we retain our honour though our lands are seized by the witch-Shahbanu and her black arts. And these are what remain of our retainers. We hope to meet you again as friends - and,” she smiles, before tugging her mouth-covering back up, “when you have given birth and are back in shape, I would not mind getting to pit myself against your fighting magics for sport. But not before, of course.”

“Of course,” Keris nods pleasantly, and waves them goodbye as they go.

Then she turns, smile slipping away, and goes to find her uncle.

He's cutting wood outside his house, wrapped up in so many layers that he looks even fatter than he is. From the looks of things, he's been working all day. Perhaps he's trying to lose that weight.

“Ah, my favourite niece,” he says jovially. “How's your day?”

“Agemi Beik just invited me to dinner,” she says bluntly. “Apparently the Vakotans went whining to their boss.”

“I said no, obviously,” she adds. “I'm not dining with the brother of the man who had me sold; I'd murder him with the cutlery before the second course. But he sent mercenaries to do it, and that gave me an idea. You mentioned the fortress at Nehra; who's in it? Who's it manned by?”

“Not sure who it is now,” he says. “Probably a mix of his kinsmen and mercenaries.”

“Well, the ones who came to give me his message were interested in a new employer,” Keris grins. “And if all his mercenaries like him as much as they do; we may not need to hire our own to take the fort out of action. So you've got a choice to make. Ali, Zanyira and Hanilyia are probably coming back to the Southwest with me, once we've worked out how to get them there. **If you want to go too, I will move heaven and earth to get the four of you out of Taira and across Creation safely**.” The reverb makes her bones pulse and the snow tremble. “So you need to choose whether or not you want to stay here or come with your kin, uncle.”

Xasan frowns. He puts down his axe, cracking his knuckles. “I swore,” he says, his accent thickening, “on the memory of my sister that I would have my revenge. You will not stop me getting it.”

“Well, that would be the other thing we could hire the Beik's own mercenaries to see done,” Keris says smugly. “On our way out, as it were. And I'm sure they have enough cash in their vaults for us to take some for the road. Vengeance doesn't have to mean staying here - and Xasan; don't you want to see your sister again?”

He spreads his hands. “But why leave, then?” he says. “You? You have the power of one of the heroes of the sun - perhaps you are a champion of the brother of Shamsun they believe in here in Taira, the green sun who joined sides with the demons and whose names were expunged. Why leave? You could seize these mountains easily. Maybe - ha ha - you could be Shahbanu. To just abandon this place will leave another wasteland ruled by more raiders.”

Keris actively cringes at that. “First off, I would be _terrible_ on a throne,” she says. “A throne is a giant target; I'd never not be paranoid and I'd never get to go running or fight anyone. And secondly... Xasan, Shamsun's brother commands me, and I obey. I'm not blindly loyal to Hell, but I still work where they send me - partly because I owe them a lot, and also partly because if I run off and take over a country in the southeast and make myself and my nature known to the Realm and to Heaven, they will murder me at best and I'm not sure what at worst. I'm powerful, but I'm not powerful enough to desert from the powers of Hell and then take up a _very visible ruling position as shahbanu of a country_ without them getting some payback.”

“Not the throne, then - but you could rule these mountains. For Hell, if nothing else, if that's what you want.”

“I have ties in the Southwest, uncle,” Keris says quietly. “I have people, I have a love. Zanyira wants out; she wants Hanilyia to grow up away from the wars. I came to find my family and get them out of whatever danger they were in, but I didn't come to settle. I'm sorry. Will you come? For Maryam? I mean to follow her trail upriver to wherever she is now.”

He pauses where he is, crossing his arms. “For revenge, at least. We'll talk later. See if the sight of them dead sates my bloodlust.”

Stomping away from her uncle, Keris winds two locks of hair around her hands and tugs contemplatively. Revenge against the Beiks. That's a concrete goal. One that she can accomplish all by herself fairly easily, and need only elaborate on as far as she wants Xasan and Ali to be involved.

Money to hire their mercenaries out from under them would help it be really poetic, though. And be useful in whatever she does next. Where can she get money around here?

Well, a wicked little thought reminds her, there's always the Beiks themselves. It's not like they'll be using it after she's had her revenge.

Turning on her heel, Keris stomps back to Xasan. He hasn't taken up the axe again; staring broodily off into the distance instead, and she marches right up to him.

“Agemi Beik just invited me to dinner,” she says, repeating her opener from a few minutes prior. “I said no to him, but his riders won't have made it back to him yet. If I went now, I could take him up on his invitation. Be let right into his company.” She pauses. “And you could come with me. You want your revenge, don't you? You swore to it.”

Xasan breaks into a smile. “Ah ha,” he says, “so you plan to make it a bloody dinner. He will not like me being there, you know. And this way I will get to see them die with my own eyes.”

((Keris recalls she already knows about his 4 dot principle wanting revenge, and once again it shows itself fully.))

Keris considers whether she should ask the other members of her family to come along. She suspects that no, her brother would not want to - but Zany is another question. Her cousin has quite the little rule-breaking streak. But then again, she is not even a day out of bed - and is the mother of a young girl.

“We'll swing by the forge to tell them we're going,” she decides. “And to pack. Once this is done, it starts the sand pouring until we leave, one way or another. That's my condition. Are you in?”

“Yes - we will need to hurry to catch up with them since,” he spreads his hand, “well, I used to have a horse, but we had to eat it two winters ago when food was scarce and we had nothing to feed it.”

Keris's grin is a vicious thing. “Don't worry about catching up to them. I have that handled. Come on!” Catching his hand, she starts tugging him in the direction of the forge with surprising strength for her size.

((How much does Keris tell Ali and Zany about what she's planning to do?))  
((They're going to find out anyway, so yeah. “Agemi Beik invited me to dinner. Xasan and I are attending. He'll get his revenge, and then we can all leave this place.” Pretty up-front about things.))

Ali argues against it when Keris is perhaps a little more honest than she should have been. Perhaps she should have remembered that he's a worrier and unfond of risks.  But there's a cold, mirror-bright certainty in her and she has no time for his complaints. This is payback for debts held seventeen long years. This is freedom for Baisha and the temple and however many other villages are being bled out by the Beiks. This is defence of the weak and downtrodden, and on top of all that it'll enrich her enough to get her family back to where they belong.

Keris is going, whether her big brother likes it or not. It's not as though the Beik lords are a _threat_ to her.

In the end, there's a flaming row between Ali and Xasan which ends in Ali storming off. Keris doesn't like seeing her family fight in front of her. It's her misfortune that it seems to happen a lot, although most of the time it's been her souls before.

But then they're off. It's snowing again, which should at least slow down the riders as they leave.  Keris has Cissidy manifest herself and takes Rounen into her hair. He, at least, is eager for a new story to record, and is already scribbling as they set off - at speeds that draw an alarmed yell from her uncle. With Xasan to give rough directions and the sheer distance they can cover in bare minutes, it's not long before their little group have overtaken the riders. Keris has ample time to bid Cissidy conceal herself from mortal eyes and fuss with Xasan's clothes to make them look a little more presentable as they wait.

((... do you want to roll Per + Expression for a dramatic appearance before the patrol? Is that what you're aiming for?))  
((: 3))  
((3+5+2 stunt=10. Bah, only 2 successes. It is not a super-duper-dramatic appearance. They probably spot her hair from a distance away.))

It's one of the lead riders who notice Keris waiting ahead of them, standing on a wall. Rather than jump or do anything interesting, they raise one hand and then call out a warning. Salma Hegum, the one who seems to be leading the band, rides up with an expression of mild surprise on her face.

“I did not expect to see you again so soon,” she says. “Have you changed your mind?”

“I thought it was worth at least taking the measure of the naib before spurning him,” she replies blithely. “He wasn't naib when Baisha was attacked, after all. I'll dine with him, as long as I can bring a guest.”

The woman shrugs. “As you wish.” She pauses, riding closer to Keris and dropping her voice. “And do you plan violence?”

Keris meets her eye with guileless innocence. “If violence breaks out, I'll leave you and yours out of it,” she promises.

((3 successes to try to discern if Keris is lying. She's up against Keris's (Per + Politics)/2, which is... 2. Keris is actually a bad liar when she’s not bluffing with half-truths.))

The woman swallows. “You do,” she says, gripping her reins tighter. She makes a gesture with her hands - perhaps something religious. “You're planning to walk into his fortress and kill him.”

“I'm going to judge him,” Keris corrects her quietly. “For what he's done to my village, my home and my kin. If I judge he dies, then yes. He dies. And like I said, as long as you and yours stay out of it, I won't so much as glance in your direction. You said you were considering a new employer. Take this as a chance to find one.”

((Per + Pres + Prince of Hell Style))  
((Playing off what she observed earlier; that Salma doesn't really like him and isn't willing to go up against a god-curse in his defence. 3+5+2 stunt+3 Prince of Hell=13. 6 sux.))

She pauses. Swallows. “Are you hiring?” she asks softly.

Keris favours her with a small smile. “Odds are looking good. And I'll likely head to Terema after this, so if you come along you'll be back in the city once we part ways.”

She waves her sister over, and they speak quietly - though not so quietly that Keris can't hear them. They rather like the idea of getting back to Terema, rather than spending the winter stuck up in the mountains. “It's warmer there” is considered a good argument.

Salma returns to Keris, and names her price. It's cheaper overall than the Bloody Lionesses would be - cheap enough that Keris thinks she's probably undercharging as a way of essentially getting money for getting to go back to Terema.

((A Resources 3 cost will get you a few weeks hire with them - Resources 4 will get you as much as half a year. You could bring that down by a dot if you were providing food for them and their horses.))  
((Will they have any particular problem with Keris paying them out of the claimed-by-right-of-might Beik coffers?))  
((Likely not, no. In fact, she's heard from Xasan that a lot of mercenaries in Taira don't work for pay when they're on the offensive - they work for looting rights.))

Keris eyes the claw marks on Salma's face and nods thoughtfully, calling Xasan over. “I'm spirit-touched, and I can heal,” she says. “I regrew my uncle's hand, and I can do the same for any lingering wounds you have, if you sign on with me. If you want to keep the scar but fix the stiffness, I can do that too.”

((Using that to see if I can bargain the price down, and accepting the deal. Even if it doesn't drive the price down, it should at least make them enthusiastic about being on her side.))  
((Per + Bureaucracy to haggle, then. Enhance with Charms as you desire))  
((PoEU to estimate the value of their service and the value of healing to them.  
3+0+2 stunt+3 Kimmy ExD {endlessly giving, brokering deals}+2 PoEU sux x2 HDT=8. (3+2)x2=10 sux.))  
((Keris successfully barters them down with the offer of supernatural magical medical care for them and their horses - by counting that against it, they've picked up enough scars and conditions that they'll basically just work for food on the way back to Terema.))  
((Excellent! On to the Beiks, then.))

It's a ride down the valley, as the sun sets. When the twilight sun peeks through the holes in the clouds, the snowy landscape is painted red. 

It is an omen, Keris thinks with a smile.

They head past the first fortress, down to a larger town by the river valley. It's gloomy enough by now that Keris can't see much about it, but she can see it's probably got a couple of thousand people - and there are the lights of smaller settlements scattered up and down this wider valley, by wider river that leads down - eventually - to the Grey River.

“This is Pabra,” Xasan says softly to Keris. “It's the market town in this part of the district. It used to be a centre of the saffron trade, but now it just goes down the Sula to Ran.”

The walls of the town have clearly been patched up with wood and masonry, covering holes in the barricades. This far in the countryside, much of the town is already heading to bed. There are even more mercenaries parked in here, or maybe they're just conscripts working for the Beiks.

As they ride past the temple, Keris can hear the clanging of gongs and the twilight rituals to the god of the setting sun. A bird squarks, and is silenced with a knife.

The fortress at the centre of town seems older and of different build to the rest of the place. Its stone is golden honey, and it reminds Keris of the old parts of Nexus. For all its antiquity, though, it's clearly been warred over time and time again. It's covered in patch works and towers and spires built on it with different eras of stone. But something of its composition looks vaguely familiar, under the additions and behind the added walls.  Her eye runs over it as she tries to picture what it would look like without the newer parts - the same mental subtraction that showed her the face carved into the mountain back near Baisha.

It really does look familiar to Keris, and eventually she places. it. It looks almost a bit like a Realm country house, like the one she stole in An Teng. The fortress here may be an ancient vacation place.

She whispers the detail to Rounen quietly, a faint smile playing on her lips as they ride up. A warning glance at Xasan is all she can do on his front, and she hopes that he'll remember not to make a scene until the right time.

The riders lead Keris and Xasan in. As a fortress, it doesn't compare to the Lookshyian one. That was a purpose-built set of structures where everything has a purpose and there's plenty of space between the bunk houses and the central structure and so on. Here, it's basically just one central courtyard with a high walled structure around it. There are bunkhouses and warehouses in the central courtyard, and horses milling around. 

The riders dismount and the two noble - or ex-noble - women leave their horses with their scouts. They lead Keris and Xasan in through into the main building, which rises up four storeys inconsistently between one set of building and the next.  Keris doesn't scoff _out loud_ at the architecture, but she's already less than impressed. Her hair twists and coils behind her, not yet rising up into a scorpion-tail but floating off the ground as though she were in water.

Crossbowmen are waiting for them inside the hall. In deference to the fact that Keris and co are guests, their weapons are not raised. However, they could be. 

“This way,” Salma says, shedding some of her outmost layer. Her hair under the chain hood springs free from her loose headscarf, and is dark with traces of grey at the temples. She leads Keris through into a smaller side room with an overlooking gallery - that Keris can hear is full of armed men.

There's a man seated waited here, flanked by two bodyguards. And Keris gets her first sight of Naib Agemi Beik. He's a wirey man, tall and a bit gamey. His beard is greying, and he's shaved bald on top. She estimates he's in his late forties or maybe early fifties. His skin is a shade paler than her own, but leathery from plenty of sun, and his eyes are dark brown.

He rises as she approaches. “Welcome, lady,” he says, in a rusty-sounding voice which marks too much smoking. “I am pleased you took my invitation in the good faith that it was meant.”

“Well, you sent ten soldiers to deliver it; two of them heavily armed,” Keris returns pleasantly, taking in sounds from all around her to build a picture of the forces he has waiting to kill her should she attack. “I thought such a peaceful offer deserved a meeting. I'm Keris.” She glances at Xasan, and decides to leave off the matrynomic. She'll probably need to talk to him about it at some point.

“Well,” he brings his hands together. “Come! You are my guest, under my roof, and it is getting late! Shall we break bread together and drink as friends?”

With an ear trained on Xasan, Keris can hear him holding himself still, keeping his hands in his pockets and leaving his scarf and hood up for now. She can also hear him grinding his teeth.

“Yes,” she says. “Let's eat. I'm sure you have questions to ask me, and I have some for you in return.” She turns to Xasan and holds out a hand. “Uncle?”

“If you wish,” he says, voice muffled and a trifle sullen. “I'm not all that hungry, though. You can eat if you wish to.”

Keris nods easily and turns back to the naib. “I hope you don't mind my uncle's presence,” she says with a hint of challenge. “He insisted on coming with me.”

“I know that man - and you call him 'Uncle',” the naib says, frowning. “Well, if you vouch for him...”

“He'll be as well-behaved as me,” Keris assures him silkily. “So, how did you hear of me? I assume the Vakotans came here after their posturing fell flat?”

Within herself, she feels Rathan's attention crystallise, and hears the clicking of his icy abacus. He's intent on the man's answers; perhaps more so even than Keris is herself.

“Come, come,” he says, deflecting. His men bring a low table in, as well as rugs, and place them before them. Other servants bring out bread and grape juice. It's warm baked bread, and the smell of persimmon wafts. Keris' stomach rumbles - it has been a while since she last ate.

He makes sure Keris drinks and eats, before speaking. “Yes, I got a rider speaking of a mysterious god-woman who had appeared out of nowhere, wreathed in omens. Those northern savages know little and can't be trusted to follow orders, but if one with the power of a god came through my lands, I could not let them pass without honouring them in some way.”

“Mmm.” Keris tucks into the meal, seeing no reason to waste food. That she's planning to murder him is a breach of bread broken, but... honestly, she's never been one for honour the way Testolagh has. And even if she had been, being Hell-sworn probably trumps breaking the laws of hospitality.

“It's funny you mention them being your lands, because in a way they're mine as well,” she says lightly. “I was born in Baisha; it's why I called Xasan 'uncle'. Though your brother would have been naib back then, I think. I've been gone a long time.”

She watches his eyes as she speaks, but that's only so she can drop them with her last few words to apply herself to more grape juice. She's no longer looking at his face - but she's listening to his heartbeat and breathing, and those tell her more.

Oh, he pales. He swallows. His heart starts to hammer in his chest - DUM DUM DUM DUM. He's scared. He's very scared. She timed it well, though, because he's not so scared that he's lashing out. Maybe he trusts on custom to protect him.

The crossbowmen behind her and the bodyguards to his sides don't seem to have noticed a thing.

“Is that so?” he says, voice a croak.

“Oh, yes,” she says, still in the same light tone. “I was... five or so, I think. To be honest, I was surprised to find Baisha still existed, or that any of my family had survived. I'd thought them all dead when I came in search of my birthplace.”

She looks up at him. “I suppose the gods grant miracles sometimes, don't they?”

“My... m-my brother was a bad man and a bad naib,” Agemi Beik says. He is sweating, even in the cool of the fortress. “He was a bandit lord - not truly a naib. I am sorry for what he may have done to you and your kin.”

Keris cocks her head. “Yes,” she says slowly, dragging the word out. “I suppose a true naib wouldn't pillage his own villages, or sell his people into slavery. And Ishmael is dead and gone; I'll grant that. How did he die, out of interest?”

“Six years ago, he took an arrow in the shoulder. The wound turned black and he died.” Agemi's heartbeat has slowed a little, though it's still hammering in his chest. “I had been leading my own men, working for Naib Taym Matah in the Kawar province - and took them home. Better than leave m-my nephew in charge, who took after his father.”

“Mmm. Another who wouldn't act like a true naib, then?” Keris asks, throwing in a slight smile to reduce the tension as she sips at her grape juice.

“Yes.” He squares his shoulders, and takes a deep breath. “Times are hard,” he says. “The Shahbanu is a mad girl who impales men who stand up to her. The Perswhans are savage southern moon-cultists who sacrifice any who come their way - and murdered the old shah and put this madwoman on the throne. I have done things others would frown upon, but no worse than other naibs and better than many - so do not judge me harshly.”

Keris nods thoughtfully. She can hear Xasan's teeth grinding again, though he's certainly not blind to how she's controlling the conversation despite eating the naib's food, sitting in his fortress and being surrounded by his soldiers.

Still. Perhaps it's time to drop the pleasantries.

“Among those things,” she says, “would be controlling the towns your brother would have raided with hired mercenaries who hold them for you. But not the professionals you have here. You use Vakotan thugs who'll cut an old man down on the street for getting angry at them and then track him home to beat his wife bloody. Or who'll cut off a man's hand as a show of force to terrify the rest of the village into submission. Who take and take from the village and give nothing back; no help planting or sowing or building, even as they ensure your taxes get paid.”

She cocks her head again. “Are those the things I should not judge you harshly for, Agemi Beik?”

((Do de do, rolling Valour))  
((... 3 successes on 3 dice. WELP))

Something about her tone sets him off. “Yes. Yes, they are!” His spine stiffens, and while he's still afraid Keris has clearly pushed him beyond the point of moderation. “I invite you into my home, offer you my bread and my wine, approach you as a friend... and this is how you act? You would lecture me on what I do to put down rebels?” He raises his hand, and the crossbowmen behind Keris raise their weapons. “I have fought demons and fire-beasts in my time! I know how to deal with such things!”

Keris stands up.

She stands up, and the light of her heart ripples out through the hall, pulling on the sympathies of all who are watching with the force of tides. Her hair flares out in a great hood, and she raises her voice to carry.

“I am no demon and no fire-beast, Agemi Beik. I am here for justice, for the wrongs against my kin! But any mercenary who lays down his weapons and leaves the fortress to wait outside, I will not harm!” She casts her gaze around; open and vulnerable, and speaks to the guards in a softer tone. “You need not raise your hands against me. Go in peace, with my blessing.”

((Activating Attention-Holding Grace, Martyr’s Open Endearment and Beauty-Over-Truth for 17m, 1wp. Which means, let's see... everyone she hits with the first one are compelled to ignore anyone other than her unless they're competing for her attention or following her orders, nobody can attack her unless they succeed at the lower of a Compassion or Temperance roll, and she seems justified in everything she does. I roll Per+Exp for AHG and BOT for the Dodge DV they hit:  
AHG: 3+5+2 stunt=10. 5 sux.  
BOT: 3+5+2 stunt+4 Enlightenment autosux=10. 8+4=12 sux, lawl.))  
((And roll Per + Exp for the impact of her speech on the crowd.))  
((3+5+2 stunt+1 Firebrand Demagogue+4 Kimmy ExSux {self-defined victim, charm, bottled-up fury}=11. 5+4=9 sux.))

This is a moment Keris will remember for a long time; the look on the naib's face as his paid-for mercenaries turn tail and leave. 

Every. Single. One.

For a moment, his mouth is just hanging open, but he manages to find some inner grit. “Witch!” he screams. “Sorcerer! Demoness! Kill her! Kill her!”

And no one is listening. No one listens to his orders. Anyone within range is just staring at the beautiful, red-headed stranger.

((The normal social attack bounces off his Principles and he spends to resist BOT. However, uh, he fails the roll to try to get past her MOE.))  
((... christ, Keris.))

“Xasan,” Keris says quietly into the silence, drawing a curving blade of bone-porcelain from her hair. “Take your vengeance.”

Xasan takes the blade with great relish. Unfortunately, the naib also draws his blade - because Rathan's allure cannot lead a man to his death. The two men circle each other; Xasan with his bone-china blade, Agemi with the sword at his waist.

Xasan swings, moving in despite his bulk, but Agemi parries and cuts back, forcing an ungainly, overweight leap back by Keris' uncle.

((First round, 2 successes apiece.))

Keris waits and watches, her hair coiling around her, ready to intervene. This is Xasan's vengeance, but she won't let him die here.

((... Jesus fuck, Xasan. Agemi goes and rolls 5 successes on 7 dice... but then you go and roll 7 successes on 5.))

The naib goes on the offensive, pushing the fat old man back with punishing swings. Xasan is still out of practice from his lack of exercise when he lost his hand, and he's pushed back and back...

... only then it's revealed it wasn't all real, and flipping the blade into a reverse grip, he scores a long bleeding cut down the naib's hand.

((... and then another 5 successes on 5 dice vs 2 on 6. Goddamnit, this lesson that Keris is overconfident isn't working because the dice suddenly decided that Xasan needs to win.))

The sudden flare of pain is enough to push the naib back, and with a speed born of desperation, rage, and perhaps a little bit of magic that's sunk into the blades, Xasan is on him, slashing again and again. The cuts build up, red blood oozing through Agemi's fingers.

((... and they're at 5 dice each. And Xasan gets 4 successes vs 2 from Agemi on his last -2. So. Uh.))

From nerveless fingers, the blade drops from the Agemi's hand. Xasan barrels him over, stabbing again and again and again. Red blood gushes out from the countless stab marks on the man's ruined torso.

The naib is dead.

Hands and front covered in blood, blade painted red, Xasan pulls himself off the slippery floor. He spits on the corpse.

“That's one,” he says to Keris with dark satisfaction. There's sweat running down his forehead “That was for my hand.”

“Who else has earned their death?” Keris asks, taking Ascending Air back from him. “Who else is guilty?” She can see the bitterness surging in him, and hopes she won't have to pull him back from massacring any innocents.

“We can start with the Vakotans, now that the naib isn't there to get mad if they're dead,” he says. “After that, we'll find who took your mother and make them pay. Every last one.”

“Oh, that was wonderful, Mama,” Rathan says with glee in her head. “Just wonderful. I love him! He's an amazing uncle! And you're great too! That was properly poetic!”

((... ironically, it also means that Keris didn't technically break hospitality except in vouching for Xasan. He didn't eat from the naib's table, and she didn't lay a finger on him.))

“The Vakotans, then.” Those, Keris can agree with. “That nephew he mentioned; is it worth dealing with him? Or will this serve as an example?”

“Yes. I've watched them hurt my friends, my family, me for months. Most of them have what's coming to them.” He wipes his hands, and hands Keris back her knife. “Yes.”

She marches out of the fort, to where the mercenaries are assembled outside, awaiting her presence. “Let this be a lesson!” she calls; still regal, justified and righteous. “The gods watch the actions of the naibs! They watch how the villages and towns are treated! When lords forsake their lessers and abuse their power, the gods punish them! Remember this!”

((Per + Expression))  
((3+5+2 stunt+3 Prince of Hell+4 Malfeas ExSux {excessive, vengeance}=13. 9+4=13 sux. And, sigh. She's still justified, and the wp cost to throw BOT off retroactively only increases.))  
((dammit keris))  
((So what's she going to do? Just leave along with her newly hired riders? Try to recruit any of the mercenaries here? What?))  
((Ah, yes. Hmm. Okay, she's taking along her riders, a fair chunk of the naib's coffers and, mm... yeah, she may invite any mercenaries who wish to travel to Terema to do so in her company - which if they're thinking of going anyway is not a bad deal, following a godschosen rather than risking it alone.))  
((Okay, so:  
Per + Expression to see what kind of force she acquires.  
Cog + Investigation for her looting success.  
Then Reaction + Bureaucracy as a defensive roll.))  
((Mercenaries: 3+5+2 stunt+3 Prince of Hell=13. 6 sux.  
Looting: 3+1+2 stunt+4 Metagaos ExD=10. 4 sux.  
Defensive: 5+0+2 stunt+2 Coadj=9. 5 sux and PoEU used for any potential bonus.))  
((How are you doing mote-wise, btw?))  
((Down almost to single digits. But hopefully I won't need to use anymore. I have basically one big roll-buff or Charm activation left before Keris shows off her green godsmark.))

The speech seemed to meet with general awe and deference, and Keris wasted no time in announcing her intentions of leaving Taira once justice was done. Any who wished to travel in her company to Terema could do so, she announced, and she would aid them in safe passage.

Leaving Salma and her band of already-signed-on soldiers to handle those who wished to come, Keris retired herself back into the fort to acquire funds. She wouldn't - this once - take _everything_ that was here. That would just get the next naib taxing the remaining villages in the area even more. But she could certainly take a sizeable chunk; enough to get her and all of Baisha to Terema.

Because that's what she could do, with some mercenaries accompanying her to act as a shield to her spear. She could take every Baishan who wanted a way out to the gateway of Taira and give them a fresh start there - and leave any who didn't want to go to retreat up to the temple or into the hillfolk.

Keris finds that there are maybe 200 mercenaries and soldiers here, and maybe a hundred and twenty of them follow her - a ragged band from all over. They're mostly from further abroad - quite a lot of the Tairans seem to just be staying. Maybe they're locals. 

But at least they don't get in the way of her plundering. Not only do her men steal coinage - but there isn't much of it spare, and most of them were being paid in food and promissory notes by their leaders - but they steal other things that might even be more useful in Taira. They get their hands on wagons, they steal food and they steal bags that on inspection turn out to be dried saffron. At least Keris is glad that they got enough food and carts to transport the Baishans and her new army.

Because she's acutely aware of her supply limits here. Even if they transfer to the river, hundreds of people get through lots of food. Admittedly, it takes some Dulmean nudging to make that clear, but now she has a lot of people depending on her and she can't afford to dawdle. She needs to set out soon if she's to comfortably get to Terema with her people, even with the amount of food they're loading up.

Riding at the head of her ranks with Xasan alongside her, Keris finds she quite likes the tramp of hundreds of hooves and feet from behind her. The novelty will undoubtedly wear off with the noise, but for now...

... for now she's on top of the world.

“To Terema!” she calls, pointing forward, and her army follows her as she sets off.


	6. Chapter 6

It is approaching midnight by the time that Keris can get her scattered and loot-happy forces cresting the valley, approaching the moonlit village of Baisha. They’re carrying torches to light their way, but the night is dark. Under the tiny sliver of moon in the sky, Keris can see the ice in the river. 

There are fires at the gate, though, and Keris can see that the the Vakotans are coming out en masse. They must have been alerted by someone - perhaps one of them - coming from the naib’s place, bringing news of what Keris had done. And they are light cavalrymen and Baisha is in no place to fight. The walls aren’t something that you could hold.

Cold fear runs through Keris’ gut at the thought of what they might have done in the hours since they were alerted that the naib was dead - and that she, who had declared herself to be related to Ali and Zany - was behind it.

Her mercenaries have seen the gathering forces, and they’re already spreading out from their marching route along the road as the advance degenerates into confusion at the prospect of opposition.

“What are your orders?” Salma Hegum asks Keris, lance in hand. She’s jingling in the cold, her chainmail shaking as she shivers. Her horse’s breath is steaming. “Night battles are hard and they say those northern savages practice up raiding at night from a young age, up on their plains.”

Keris just feels cold. Cold and half-numb with terror at a level she never felt even in the Lookshyian fort.

“... stay... stay up here on the ridge,” she said. “Light fires. Dismount. Make it look like you’re stopping here. Make no moves against the village.”

She’s shaking. Her mind won’t stop showing her terrible pictures of Kuha hurt, Ali hurt, Zany hurt, _Hany_ hurt.

She swings herself off her horse, and her expression makes Rounen’s fires go pale as he sees it.

“Not one footstep down the valley,” she repeats. “Make sure they know you’re up here and that you’re not moving. I’m going down alone.”

Keris silently slips into the village. It’s hardly difficult. She just goes to the other side of town and runs over the low wall. Anyone could do it.

The old house by the river with the waterwheel is empty, its door broken down. Things are in disarray. Blankets are scattered down on the ground.

Keris tastes the air. A strong scent of piss. And a tiny bit of blood. Not a body’s worth of blood.

Some of the bitter tension wound up in her shoulders dissipates, though her hair remains a nest of knotted dreadlocks more like Vali’s usual style than her own. She closes her eyes, thinking. The forge is the obvious place to look even if she expects to find it empty. Then the Vakotan garrison. If they aren’t in either of those places, she’ll have to start tracking.

The mercenaries can come later. She can’t get her family out of Taira if they’re dead, so locating them has to be her first priority.

There’s no one there in the forge, though someone has overturned the tools and scattered the coals. Keris can see the forge-spirit sitting in the quenched fire, the little hand-sized goddess sitting in the water-soaked coals, weeping.

“Hey,” she whispers in Old Realm. “Uh...”

A moment’s wracking her mind for the old praise-cants she used to worship minor street spirits is needed, but they come eventually. “Fire-stoker, hidden one, little goddess. I see you, and I’ll see your forge relit if you help me. Who doused your coals, and where did your smith go?”

Her eyes are dim, her tiny metal hands clenched into fists. “The horsemen who don’t respect his work came,” she says, voice filled with dull horror. “They took the smith away. They took his wife away. They took his daughter away. The bloodline is gone and the fires are out. It’s not meant to be like this. It’s not… it’s… it’s not!”

“The bloodline is _not_ gone,” says Keris fiercely. “I am the sister of the smith; the daughter of the smith before him, and a Chosen. There’s no scent of blood over the town; they’re still alive, and **I am going to get them back and take them to a new home in a safer place than this**.” She extends a hand. “If you wish, you can come with me and see it done - and I’ll build a new forge there for them, and recreate the tools this one once had.” A casual gesture encompasses the overturned tools and the rotted waterwheel and drop hammer. “A new forge like that will need a goddess, after all.”

“A sister? He… yes, he had a sister. Or was that his father? I can’t remember. All the faces blend together after so long.” She blinks, eyes flowing slightly more strongly. “I’ve watched this forge for hundreds of years. They take good care of it. And… and you mean it when you say it. You’re going to keep them safe… but you’re going to take them away. But…” the hand-sized goddess swallows. “If he takes the tools with him, it’ll be the same forge. They’ve… you’ve had to move before, you know. I followed them last time. That was a long time ago, when the dam broke and the old forge drowned along with the old smith.”

She offers her hand, the palm smaller than Keris’ fingernail.

“I’ll try to help you, if you want to keep him and his daughter safe. I’m not sure if you’re really of the family. I can’t feel you. But I’ll try to do what I can.” She juts out her chin. “They threw water on my forge! They need to be punished!”

“They will be,” promises Keris, taking the tiny hand between finger and thumb. “What’s your name, forge-mistress?” Her eyes flash green momentarily as she measures the goddess’s essence.

The little goddess shakes Keris’ fingers. “I am Amphelia Iron-Handed, the forge watcher.”

She really is a weak little goddess. Keris can tell. The fires in her are even weaker than Rounen or any of her other demons. Even a newborn kerub, like Saji was when Keris first met her, is more powerful than this creature. Even _Kerisa_ is stronger than she is.

As if called by her thoughts, Kerisa drifts through the wall. “Oh!” she says, running over to give Keris a cold, slightly squishy hug! “You’re back! I was so so so worried, Big Keris! Bad people came and then the mama here gave her baby to Kuha and got her to run for it around the back and then she and the daddy tried to make them go away to distract them and then the bad people got through the door and they punched the daddy in the face and he was bleeding and they took them away and they wrecked the place and they knocked over the box with my bones in and that made me angry and I made the walls bleed and they ran away rather than follow Kuha! But you’re back! I thought I was going to be left here again and then we’d never find my parents!”

“A ghost?” the forge-goddess asks, worry and a hint of disgust in her voice. “Why is there a haunting here? Who died?”

“Nobody died,” Keris snaps. “Nobody here is _going_ to die. Kerisa’s with me. Kerisa, sweetheart; _well done_. Well done and thank you. The daddy is my brother and the baby you saved was my niece. Can you lead Rounen to where Kuha is, or do you not know? I’m going to rescue Ali and Zanyira and deal with the bad people. Amphelia; will you come or wait here for me to come back with the smith?”

She moves over to Kerisa’s box, arranging the bones back on the cushion within. “If either of you heard the bad people say where they were taking them, that would help a lot in rescuing them. If not, I’ll just start at their barracks.”

Kerisa huffs. “Of course I don’t know where Kuha went,” she says, a slight sulkiness in her voice even through the relief in seeing Keris. “They went away and I couldn’t follow them! Because my bones are here and I can’t leave them! So what’m I meant to do there? You need to carry me because you can pick up the box!”

“I don’t know where they went either,” Amphelia says, “but they did have metal on them which was made at my forge. There were nails in their boots that the smith had made.”

So with Kerisa floating behind her, following the bones that Keris carries on her back, and the tiny goddess sitting on her shoulder, Keris sets off, following the iron-sense the goddess has. She says she can feel the nails over towards the gate - probably in the big gathering of the Vakotans who are gathering up to face Keris’ mercenaries.

“There’s more of my iron’s nails and a lot of my wire there too,” the goddess informs Keris, piping voice angry.

Keris creeps forward in utmost silence. The Vakotans are focused on the big gathering at the head of the ridge; the army without. They aren’t watching for a Chosen assassin coming at them from within the village itself. And while she wants to charge and kill them all at once, she can’t. Not until she’s heard with her own ears where Ali and Zanyira are.

Stalking up more closely, there’s a lot of noise of men, women and horses from the Vakotans. They’re loud, just by existing. It gives her a headache, especially as fear gnaws at her gut.  
  
There! In among the Vakotans, amidst the jingle of chainmail and the snorting of horses and the sharp Vakotan tongue she can barely understand when they speak slowly, she can hear quiet sobbing. She’s sure that’s Zany. And there, next to her, now that she can focus on it, she thinks she can recognise her brother’s breathing, fast and scared.

The Vakotans have taken them as hostages. That must be it. They know they’re linked to Keris, and they know enough of what she did - and how she has an army now - to want an insurance policy against her. Which would be the family she spoke about in front of the Vakotans when she showed them up.

Keris slinks up to the top of the wall, the colour of her skin blending into the mossy stone. Her hair fans out, so she doesn’t have a humanoid profile, and even the texture of her skin is no longer smooth. Clinging on with hair tendrils, she peers out through the night.  
  
The Vakotans are keeping fairly organised for people she’d taken to look so savage. They’re split into three main groups. Maybe it’s like those military tactics she’s seen in Hell, where demon lords will keep one central group and then have two fast wings to flank their opponents and hit them in the side.

Her ears are leading here - her eyes look where they tell her to. Over there, in the central group, she hears Zany’s sobs and her eyes pick them out from among the noise of all these men and horses which are giving her a headache. Both Zany and her brother look like they’re mostly unhurt. They’re sitting ahead of Vakotans on horses, and from the clinking her ears pick up, she thinks they’ve been chained to their guard so they can’t run for it. Either that, or the Vakotans have some kind of custom saddle to let them hold prisoners. It doesn’t really matter, though. 

Certainly, though, it looks like they’re keeping their prize hostages in the central group, which is presumably the important one if it works like it did with the demon lords. It looks like they’re placed around the assumption that when Keris and her army ride up, she’ll see that they have the prisoners and will… do something. Talk, maybe? Or retreat in exchange for their release. Maybe even just given them safe passage.

“Safe passage - to the lands of the Dead,” Rathan says, bitterly. His pretty voice is full of hate.

“I like that idea,” Calesco observes.

“There,” says the little forge-goddess, a little late, from where she’s sitting up in Keris’ hair. “There he is. They’ve got him up the front.”

“Where are the people who knocked over my bones?” whines Kerisa. “Big Keris, you need to make them pay for it! Or I’ll do it!”

Keris considers her approach. She’s going to kill them all, obviously. But she needs to get her family out of the middle of them first. There are a number of ways she could do that, and it only takes a moment for her to decide on one.

She wants to make a point.

“Go to the smith,” she whispers to the little goddess. “Tell him his sister is coming. Tell him no harm will come to him or his wife.”

Drawing her shadow up and over her as Amphelia flits off, Keris sneaks into the mess of Vakotans looking like one of their own. In the dark, they can’t see her well enough to realise her face isn’t familiar, and anyway they’re mostly focused on her army rather than their own contingent. They’re closely-packed and crowded, but she keeps her head down and works her way towards the prisoners, preparing her big reveal.

((Stealth roll, enhanced by whatever Charms you want, at Diff 4 since they're in close proximity and have doggos and woofers and puppers.))  
((DOGGOS AND WOOFERS AND PUPPERS))  
((OH MY))  
((DUN DUN DUUUN))

They seem to be tired and on edge - not surprisingly, given it's past midnight and they've probably been up at least since they saw the lights of Keris' column and probably even earlier.

She also notices that there's a man wearing lots of iron and what she guesses to be good luck or spirit warding things, carrying what looks to be a hammer. He's either a priest or a blacksmith of some sort.

((And… Amphelia promptly botches her stealth roll. On 5 dice. Useless chibi goddesses))

And either way, that’s enough to give him a sense for the hidden and uncanny, because when Amphelia brazenly clambers over the snow, he climbs down off his horse - moving with false idleness - and snatches her up in one gloved hand.

He says something in the sharp Vakotan language to her, and then shifts to Old Realm. “And what are you doing here, little spirit,” he demands, holding her tight in his thick gloves. She kicks and struggles, but being hand-sized is somewhat of a disadvantage.

“Let him go!” 

“Forge spirit, I am sorry that you are here, but I respect you and you will not come to harm,” he says in the same accented Old Realm. Despite that he doesn’t let go of her. And with that said, he pulls an iron bottle-shaped thing off his belt, and in a smooth motion forces her into it then reseals the top. He spits on the top, and then wraps a strip of green-dyed leather around it.  
  
Someone asks him something, presumably inquiring as to what he’s doing, and he just says something short. The Vakotan woman who asked makes a symbol on her chest and looks away.

Amphelia may not have carried her message to its intended destination, but the distraction is enough to bring Keris the rest of the way there. A quick, slightly-faster-than-mortal darting lunge is enough to get her right up to Ali and Zanyira - a hair-tendril darting out to snatch the iron bottle from the priest’s belt as her shadow sloughs off - and up onto the horse carrying her brother.

And then all eyes are pulled to her irresistibly as Rathan’s radiance halos her and her Amulet lights up in splendour. Her red dress is an ocean of carmine light; tiny waves rippling over it, with gold detailing peaking through the seeming-surface like island chains and gleaming as though lit by the sun. A subtle green tint colours both blood-waves and golden isles from above, as the empty green circle burning like a brand on her forehead takes the place of a demon sun.

((Pickpocketing the bottle, but more importantly, prepping CME and BOT from stealth and then dropping AHG and MOE at once and flaring my caste mark and my Amulet’s Appearance Up mode.))

“I told you,” her voice echoes out over the sudden, stunned silence, “to remember what would happen if you harmed _any member of my family_.”

Every eye is on her, every heart beats for her, every ear listens for her words and hers alone. A tiny, almost Calescoid thought wonders if this is how Rathan feels _all the time_.

The blacksmith-priest seems to be stronger than the others - or at least more aware of what she’s doing. His hands clumsily fumble for his hammer, and he lifts it up - not as a weapon, but almost defensively. Her eyes flare green as she focusses on him, and she feels the warmth and abnormal strength - though he’s still pathetically weak.

((Fire-aspected essence, Enlightenment 3))  
((Oh yeah, since I forgot to ask onscreen but she’ll have noted it at some point; what enlightenment is Ali?))  
((1. He's basically just Enlightened, maybe a Style Excellency.))  
((Yeah, thought so. But man, this dude is pretty potent.))

His voice harshly spills out, speaking in a mix of bastardised Old Realm and his own language, and Keris can feel hot, almost slippery essence surging from him. It’s some kind of ward against malign influence, perhaps a banishing rite or perhaps a shield. A few of the others close to him seem to regain some strength, and blink themselves back to more alertness.

The hammer seems so heavy in his hands. Whatever he’s doing is exhausting, she can tell from his posture - but it seems to have freed the older man with the iron beads in his hair and his beard from her influence - at least partially. Enough that he looks up at her with fear - and some hatred - in his eyes.  
  
“You are the red lady, the scorpion-hair woman,” he says, his Rivertongue much thicker than the other Vakotans she’s heard. “Your brow, it is marked like the Wretched of the Realm traders.”

“Be less concerned with what the Realm call me,” Keris tells him, “and more concerned with what _I_ am calling _you_. Dishonourable. Brutish. Cruel.”

Her words are mostly a cover for her hair dropping down behind her, the white blades of Ascending Air flickering out of them to slice through the chains that bind Ali and Zanyira to their rider-captors.

“Vakotans!” she calls, fully aware of the effects of Rathan’s influence. “See me! I have raised no weapon! I gave warning that my family should be left alone, and you ignored it, yet I still stand empty-handed! But _this_ man raises a weapon against me! This one curses my name! Hold them back and stop them from hurting me, I ask you, please!”

She glances down at the Vakotans mounted behind her brother and cousin. “Off the horses,” she orders in a lower tone. “I’m going to get down.”

The two closest to her are right in the sheer impact of the beautiful figure - close enough to smell her, if that counts - and Rathan’s radiance is blasting into their minds at point blank range. No wonder they slither off their horses obediently. Keris is pretty sure they’re both trying to look up her dress, too.

The impact on the others is, if anything, even more hammer-like. After all, everything she says is justified to them. She’s never hurt them. She’s the centre of their world, and everything anyone else says is so much meaningless animal noise. And of course, she’s heartbreakingly beautiful. 

Only a monster would say ‘No’ to her. And no matter how the leader shouts at them, they’re just not listening. She’s not _hurting_ them, after all.

Ali and Zany are staring up at her with awestruck expressions, too.

“Damn you, Wretched demon!” the leader snarls at Keris. “We just wanted safe passage out of here!”

“If you’d given my village a safe winter,” Keris retorts, “I would give it to you. But you killed and hurt and stole from them, and for that there must be justice.”

“Go,” she says softly behind her to Ali and Zanyira. She passes the bottle back, slicing off the top with a bone-porcelain blade to free Amphelia. “Get to safety. The army on the ridge is mine; ask for Salma and find Xasan. Don’t look back.”

“I can ride,” says Zany, nodding despite her awestruck expression. She accepts Kerisa’s box, passed to her by Keris on the grounds that she’s less likely to annoy the ghost-girl by dropping her. “We had a horse before… before. My side of the family, that is. And these are good horses. Everyone knows Vakotan horses are expensive, even up here in the mountains.” She glances at her husband. “He can… cling on, I suppose. Not keeping them would be throwing away good money.”

Ali swallows. “Are… are you really Keris?” he asks. “I mean… it’s… it’s too much. I thought you were just fast and strong, but… but… you don’t look at all like you. Not really.”

“It’s really me, brother,” Keris promises, stepping off the horse and lowering herself to the ground on hair-limbs. “And remember my oath. Now go,” she repeats, “and don’t look back.”

A pulled-short whip-crack of hair near the horse’s flanks sends them running for the ridge, and Keris turns back to the Vakotans, sighing inwardly. _Makers_. She’s going to have to do a lot of apologising and explaining over this. Why must mortals be so _fragile?_

“Must you, mother?” Calesco asks sadly. “You’ve saved them. Any further killing is just mindless butchery.”

“Shut up, Cally,” Rathan retorts. His voice is as beautiful as Keris’, and she can feel his pulse racing like it almost never does. He’s normally so cold and languid, but in this moment his moon is beating and he’s so _alive_. It’s like the difference between Haneyl when she’s lazy and when she’s really worked up about something. “It’s not butchery. It’s _justice_.”

“The first person I talked to in this town,” Keris reminds Calesco, “was an old woman with a daughter up in the temple who helped us get here, and showed kindness to two strangers. And these people butchered Kazih’s father and beat her mother so badly they fractured her face. They cut off Xasan’s hand. They could have treated the village well, but instead they bullied and maimed and killed. This is how these people act with power, and if I take away their weapons and send them away, they’ll only find more and carry on hurting someone else.”

She draws her Lance from her hair in a slow, deliberate motion.

“This is _justice_ ,” she repeats.

“And the children you’ll be orphaning? You heard babies in their camp, even if there weren’t any younger children around. They’ve got men and women together on campaign, so the inevitable happens,” Calesco says bitterly. “Is that justice too?”

Just for a moment - staring into the eyes of the chief, who’s being blocked from getting to her by his own men - Keris hesitates.

But then she scowls.

“Men and women like this,” she says, “aren’t the parents their babies deserve. I’ll see the children raised by people kinder than them.”

Calesco exhales. “I wish you wouldn’t,” she says softly. “There are other things you could do.” But she’s already accepted and given in. “Just don’t kill _anyone_ who throws down their weapon or tries to surrender! I mean that!”

Keris narrows her eyes, nods reluctantly...

... and lunges.

Her first strike sets the grass and weeds beneath the snow into furious growth, becoming a tangled morass of grasping stalks and snaring leaves. Red-silver flowers with kris-shaped petals dot the tangle, as well as green-leaved saffron buds. She forgoes her more lethal options, despite the ease with which she could finish this force off with Eko’s help. She wants to keep her wind-form in reserve for now, and Eko’s direct help would kill the horses. Which, as Zany has reminded her, are valuable.

No, this will have to be the old-fashioned means of killing. Just Keris, her chain-Lance and a lot of grasping vegetation bursting up from under the snow to grapple groups and cut off escape routes. Vegetation that doesn’t hinder _her_ in the slightest.

While she’s tempted to start with the priest and the chief - whose son cut off Xasan’s hand, Keris hasn’t forgotten - Keris doesn’t want any of her targets to get away. To that end, she begins on the outsides of the formation, calling up more snarling undergrowth and making use of her inhuman speed to circle them and cut off any attempts to break away. The potential for razor thorns and toxic spores lie dormant in the Haneylian weeds she summons - she’s not willing to put the effort into coaxing out their lethal potential, and wants the horses alive besides.

The Vakotans are cavalrymen, from the uplands and steppes north of Taira. Keris heard from some of her mercenaries rumour that their women even gave birth in the saddle, which sounded uncomfortable and unsafe. But that means they - and their horses - aren’t used to thick forest or dense vegetation, especially when it springs up below them.

Horses go down or recoil and buck their riders. The beasts are terrified, especially when the toxic _force_ of Keris’ essence gets close enough and their animal instincts prove wiser than their human riders. Some of the cavalrymen manage to keep their steeds under control, but many don’t, and the barked cries of the first of the leaders of the flanking force do nothing but tell Keris exactly where she is.

The leader is a big woman with a face with a prominent sabre scar that took one eye. She looks like she’s in her forties, a killer and veteran who’s probably lead countless raids.

Keris explodes off the ground, stepping on top of a bush that she springs up as a support, and lashes out with her spear whip-like. She disarms her foe. Literally. Landing on the head of her horse, she pauses to decapitate the men on either side of her, and then she’s off again. The trampled snow runs red with blood.

And then she loops around and kills off the other flanking element. All of them who try to face her, rather than run. Even the brash youngsters, teenagers who ride out to meet her with lances held in both hands, too stupid and too rash to know their own mortality.

With the flanks well and truly broken, she lets the remaining stragglers go. Xasan is up on the ridge, and he’s the one who wanted bloody vengeance on all of them. There’s no way the army can have missed what’s happening, even through the darkness, so if he wants to tackle the fleeing horsemen they can be his problem.

Keris switches targets and tactics, backing away into the night until only her brand can be seen - and even that disappears when she’s facing them. It’s not like she needs to be looking at the Vakotans to know where they are, after all. She strikes now to harry and harass; picking off targets of opportunity and doling out savage bursts of violence whenever she spots a weakness in their line. It’s not just an effective terror tactics. She’s tired and hollow inside; her reserves almost spent from her display of innocence. Pulling back and playing ambush predator in the vein of her po gives her valuable moments to get her breath back.

There is more than a little something of the winter wolf avoiding the firelight as Keris pulls back, lost in the darkness only to charge in and pick off one or two. She makes sure to scare away the horses of the men and the women she kills. They’ll round them up in the morning, but for now she doesn’t want anyone grabbing a spare mount after she unhorses them.

Part of the centre breaks away, weapons raised as they try to gallop to hunt and kill the monster. They’re ignoring the shouts and screams of the others ordering them back. Five men and women, brave and strong, each holding torches aloft.

To the onlookers, every torch goes out at once. They don’t know that Keris lashed out with her lance, snuffing out every flame, but they have to assume that everyone in that charge is dead.  
  
They’re not. Not for ten heartbeats more.

Breathing heavily, Keris pauses for a moment to take a count of what’s left to go. There’s probably barely thirty Vakotans still fighting - the rest are either fleeing or dead. She’s feeling the stress of pushing herself like this, and really wants to find somewhere to lie down and just sleep. Preferably underwater so she can get the weight of the babies off her spine. This is the first time she’s really feeling the pressure of pregnancy with such extended violence, and it’s reminding her that her due date is fast approaching.

Time to bring an end to this. The remaining Vakotans look like they’re on the edge of breaking, and she doesn’t want to give them the chance to run away.

And then Keris hears a scream, even over the sound of the fighting. A human couldn’t pick it out, but she knows the voice. It’s down by the river, where some of the fleeing Vakotans had gone.

“Kerishyra!”

Red and silver light flashes bright enough to blind everyone within a hundred yards for a few seconds, and every Vakotan too close to Keris goes flying as she rockets towards her friend. Snow sprays out from either side of her path as she hurtles towards the river, catching the light of her anima as it falls and refracting her after-images into a maddening kaleidoscope of coiling chains and lashing hair.

In the burning light of Keris’ afterimage, the red blood on the white snow stands out like nothing else. Her ears direct her to the scream. Ice-choked streams shatter behind her and she knocks the boughs off leafless trees.

And then she’s at the place where she heard the scream, and she takes in the scene before her.

A pair of fleeing Vakotans stumbling across the low bridge that Kuha was hiding under. Desperate, terrified men. Not wanting the monster to follow them. Not wanting witnesses.

Kuha, tiny against a man on a horse, only armed with her belt knife and a branch. Not enough to fight a man who’s still got his cavalry sabre. Trying to stand, but bleeding from a long cut all the way down her left side.

Hany, even smaller, hand to her mouth, pale with cold, huddled down with big eyes.

And then Keris is there and two headless bodies fall to the ground. Then the boom of Keris’ passage tosses them like rag dolls.

It takes her a dozen metres to stop, skidding through the snow and leaping into the trees to turn back around and shed velocity. The flickering light of her anima-images fade as she slides back towards the pair from the opposite side of the bridge, scooping Hany up in her hair and holding her close while her arms grab Kuha and check her injuries.

“ _Kuha,_ ” she babbles. “Are you okay? No, stupid, of course you’re not, here, let me look at you - Hany, sweetheart, it’s okay, your mama and daddy are safe, I’m dealing with the bad people - Kuha, I need to finish off the Vakotans, can you hold out? Here, I can carry you back towards the ridge; the army up there is mine, I can staunch the bleeding on the way... _fuck_ , I shouldn’t have let them flee...”

Kuha is on the edge of tears, shivering in the cold, but she reaches up and pinches her wound shut with a scream. It stays shut, and the blood flow stops. She says something in her own language which involves the word ‘Kerishyra’, and then blinks, clenching her teeth together. “The cut, no bleed, because of Kerishyra and what she do to my body,” she says in broken Rivertongue. She’s backsliding because of the pain, back to the babytalk she first learned. “I… I make blood of Kerishyra safe. Good, yes?”

“ _You’re_ safe,” Keris insists. “That’s what matters. Head towards the ridge while I take care of the rest of the Vakotans.” She drops a kiss on Hany’s forehead. “Kuha will get you back to your mama and daddy, sweetheart. I promise. Cissidy!”

Her steed curls out from her hair in a stream of pink-and-white ribbons that coalesce into an eight-legged horse. Keris lifts Kuha and Hanilyia up onto her back in one quick boost, and directs her towards Xasan with another worried look at the gash in Kuha’s side.

Then, as they gallop away, she’s moving again. Back towards the Vakotans.

((OK, so, because Keris was fast about that, that’s one thing. She was also super obvious about it. And she also temporarily blinded everyone who was looking at it, until their next action tick (which has passed). But it was suuuuuuuper demoralising))

The flash of light was a miracle - or perhaps it was hellish witchcraft. The latter was true, but either way the Vakotans had broken when the night lit up in blinding white and left them dazzled in the pitch blackness as it returned. Even if the humans had wanted to stay, their horses weren’t prepared to tolerate it.

Scared horses screamed and men yelled and shouted as the fear of conscripts across northern Taira fled on their out-of-control steeds. Thirty or so scattered, broken men, their leader and priest among them, abandoning their holdings in Baisha and anyone they’d left within the settlement.

“Don’t you dare let them get away,” Rathan hisses, his voice almost snake-like. “The leader’s there. The one who has to pay more than anyone!”  
  
“They’re running!” Calesco retorts. “You don’t kill someone who’s running away!”

“Being a coward doesn’t forgive your sins!” Rathan snaps back.  
  
“Mama _promised_! They’re no threat to anyone now!”

“If they get away, they’ll just come back and do it again! Or worse, because they’re bad horrible and they’ll want revenge on the village!”

The voices in Keris’ head feel like they’re tearing it in half.

((The Vakotans botched their Valour check, so they’re just outright routing now. Keris can basically kill whoever she wants of them - and she has Racing Vitaris, so they can’t outpace her.))

Poison tints the length of Keris’s Lance, racing down to cover the weighted ball at one end, and Keris puts it to use. She won’t kill these men. Not while they’re running. But she won’t let them go, either - not after what happened to Kuha, not given their crimes. She’ll knock them out, dismount them, trap them in tangling vines.

And tomorrow, in the light of day, they can be judged by the people they’ve harmed.

Some of the poor fools even try to bring their horses under control and turn around to stare at Keris as she closes on them. There’s something hypnotic about her, shortly before a weighted poison-coated ball hits them in various sensitive spots. 

But of course some of them prove braver than the others. And for all that he’s a horrible man, the leader of them is one of them. He turns his horse too, but rather than approach her with a vacant expression he draws his sabre and lets out a shrill war cry. He has to know he’s going to die.

He still charges, the priest-blacksmith at his heels. The priest doesn’t have his hammer in his hand - instead he’s fumbling with metal pots at his waist.  Keris lets fly with a leaden slingshot as she homes in on them; taking advantage of his attention being focused on the pots to send it whistling through the air towards his head with a subtle flick of her hair. Lance in hand, she meets the leader’s charge head-on, her coiled chainspear striking like a cobra at his heart.

The small piece of lead - with the advice to “Duck” helpfully inscribed on it in Old Realm - is unseen in the nighttime gloom as it whips across the space between combatants and strikes the priest in the head with a sharp _crack_. Scarcely a second later, Keris slams into the Vakotan leader; her spearhead twisting serpent-like around his guard and burying itself halfway through his armour. An instant later, Keris’s momentum forces it the rest of the way in to pierce his heart.

The blacksmith-priest falls off his horse, brained by the lead shot, and Keris runs on, wrenching her spear out of the leader of the Vakotans.

It’s really all over bar the stabbing. And the bludgeoning with a weighted ball on the end of a spear.

The next morning, there are twenty one Vakotans in the hands of Keris’ mercenary army, and they’re chasing down the scattered horses. They’re still counting them, but by her reckoning Keris looks like she’s got her hands on well over a hundred good horses, including the ones they’d left inside Baisha.   
  
Oh, and of course, she’s got the sum total of the Vakotan wagons and supplies left inside the walls. These include eight infants, and two newly widowed new mothers who weren’t in a fit state to ride out yet and so were tasked with looking after the babies.

“We’re not killing the babies,” she tells Xasan bluntly. “And I’m not keen on the mothers, either. The infants haven’t hurt anyone, they deserve to be raised by parents who love them and can care for them. The rest get a trial. But if you want your vengeance, you’re accepting responsibility for the kids.”

She flits off briefly to yell at some of her mercenaries and make it clear that no, the horses belong to her and will not be divvied up among the army unless they want to fight Keris for them. Then it’s back to Xasan. “Is your vengeance satisfied? And... I don’t know it I want to know, but how are Ali and Zany and Hany taking it?” Kuha she’s already fussed over and healed, which involved a lot of attempted apologies from Kuha and a lot of firm refusal to blame her for anything from Keris.

It’s not an entirely comfortable feeling when Kuha looks at her so worshipfully. Especially not when she tries to blame herself for not taking on two armed and mounted men and winning. If anyone’s to blame there, Keris feels, it’s her for not training Kuha well enough.

Xasan looks at her, and beckons her away, out of sight of the others. “I am kalantar of this village, and I was an officer of the Shah,” he say, eyes bleak. “These Vakotan scum are bandits in the eyes of the Shah’s law. Execution is their just desserts.” He pauses. “We can hand the infants over to the temple of Shamsun. They’ll care for them, and that should stop them growing up with a blood oath looking for vengeance for their bandit parents.”

There’s a dark chuckle from Rathan in Keris’ head. He likes how Xasan is cloaking his revenge in the guise of judgement. Keris is pretty sure that Xasan is her elder son’s favourite relative right now.  
  
“As for Ali,” her uncle says, “I’ve been busy rounding up the horses. We - hah, you wouldn’t know, but our people value our horses almost as much as our cattle. These are good horses. When I saw him he was quiet, but he said to tell you that he’s decided that they do need to get out of Baisha.”

There might be cause to be concerned there, Keris thinks, but she puts it aside in favour of the dozen other things she has to do. That he’s agreed to leave Baisha is a It’s positive; anything else can wait.

“You _were_ an officer of the Shah,” she says, “but you’re not anymore. I think it’s best if the Temple handle the actual trials - they have the backing of the Sun in their judgements, and you can stand witness to the executions themselves.” The temple priests are less furiously bitter, too, she adds privately. While she’s far from opposed to the Vakotans all being executed, Calesco will nag her a lot less if she makes sure there’s as little bias as possible in their sentences. “We have to convince them to take in the children anyway - and I want to talk to you, Ali and Zany in private. The trip up the mountain will be a good chance for that.”

It takes a bit of pestering - and perhaps a touch of hellish power - to argue him down, but it’s the idea that he gets to present his case to the priests first that seems to sway it. Keris is fairly sure he intends to get his words in.

Once Keris has made some arrangements and left Salma in charge, as a family they set off up the mountain. Ali refuses to leave Hany behind, and is carrying her on his shoulders. Keris is already looking forwards to when he gets tired and she gets to carry her niece. Zany for her part is still out of shape - but doesn’t want to leave Keris’ presence.

They travel in silence for the first few minutes - until not even Keris’s hearing can follow conversations back in camp, and Hany is fidgeting slightly. Keris chews on a hair tendril nervously.

“So...” she says. “I suppose I should start. I’m sorry for leaving you unguarded when I went after the naib. And for... uh, overwhelming you like that last night. I usually try to hold back around, um, mortals. It’s too easy to hurt people by accident with my powers when I use them without restraint.”

Zany squeaks a little bit. “I, uh, I… it isn’t a small spirit you have a deal with, is it?” she says faintly. “I mean, uh, I’ve seen more spirits than perhaps I wanted to, being married to a blacksmith, and none of them were like that. Like you. They were… things like big bright blue fish, or that little fire horse that came when there was a big forest fire. And someone said you’d killed the naib!”

“Rumours,” Xasan says, self-satisfaction clear in his voice. “That was me. We went in and she made him fight me fair and square. I didn’t even get a scratch.”

Ali says nothing.

Behind Zany’s back, Keris shoots her brother an urgent look that - while not quite Ekoese - still quite clearly communicates the sentiment of ‘ _she’s going to find out eventually’_. Turning back to her cousin, she worries the hair tendril between her teeth a little more, but reluctantly nods.

“The spirits that empowered me are... vast, and powerful, and a bit terrifying,” she says. “It didn’t happen all at once, though, and they didn’t do it in person. The first spirit - the one that entered through my godmark; Dulmea - she was one of their servants, and just carried a seed. She became part of me, and so did the seed of power, and it... grew. Like seeds do. And just like gods have sanctums, Dulmea has a sanctum within me where she lives, which I visit in my dreams and can pass things into and out from.”

Pulling out an apple and a skewer of rabbit-meat in demonstration, Keris takes a large chomp out of the former and passes the latter to Hany as she continues. “This sort of connects to what I wanted to talk to you all about. I tried explaining it to Ali and Xasan already. As I got more powerful, more spirits came to be inside the sanctum to sort of... govern the different bits of my powers. One for my speed and, uh... killing prowess. Another for how I can make myself so beautiful no man can attack me. A third for my healing and how I can call on plants to grow and trap my enemies. And since they’re spirits born of my powers, they... took form as my children.”

She pulls out a sketchbook - her special sketchbook; the one filled with pictures of her family and loved ones. All her souls are in there, as well as Sasi, and Kuha appears as well. Ali, Zany, Xasan and Hanilyia are recent additions to the last few pages; mostly preliminary sketches and outlines to get their postures and expressions down. But it’s the special bookmarked pages Keris wants to display. “Here, this is... Eko and Rathan, my eldest two, and... they were named for special reasons, but the others; the names just came to me. I didn’t understand _where_ they were coming from until I got here and realised some part of me must have remembered the names of my family even when I thought I’d forgotten.” She skips a page quickly, coming back to it at the end. “Here they are. Calesco. Vali. Zanara. And... my third-eldest; Haneyl.” She smiles up at her niece. “I guess I named a daughter for her grandmother too, huh?”

The four of them are starting to look lost and stunned - well, the three of them; Hany seems confused but fascinated - so Keris gets to the point. “Anyway. The reason I’m saying this is that I learnt how to let them out of the spirit-sanctum within me, this Calibration just gone. I’m going to summon one at the new moon - when the borders between worlds are weak and it’s easiest for them to answer my call. He’ll be able to help us get downriver, and hopefully smooth our passage to Terema a bit.”

“She’s just a lot of ribbons,” Hany says loudly, pointing at the Eko page. “And why’s he got horns? People don’t have horns. Deer have horns,” she adds, as if imparting some great wisdom.

((Per + Expressions vs their various MDVs, aided by ARTNESS))  
((Clearly Keris is showing off candid sketches like Eko dancing with her friends or BABY RATHAN intently working on ice-panes as well as the more up-to-date proper portraits.))  
((There’s one in particular that Zanara loves, of them working on a picture of Keris (which is just visible at an angle) in turn. Art and Artist.))  
((3+5+2 Eternal Matriarch Style+2 stunt+2 tool+3 I Love My Family+4 Kimmy ExSux=17. 12+4=16 sux. Yay!))

“Oh my,” says Zany, one hand going to her mouth, even as she takes advantage of the pause to get her breath back. “Did you really draw all these?”

“Mmm hmm,” Keris says.  
  
“You’re amazing. I have some charcoal drawings because… well, I need to entertain myself when stuck in bed, but you just leave me far behind. They’re so pretty! The child-spirits, as well as the drawings,” she hastily adds.

“The older boy looks a bit like you,” Ali says, sounding awkward. “Something about the face, I think. But not entirely. The yo-”

“Looks Northern,” Xasan grunts. “Knew a huge man in the Shah’s service, taller even than me, and he used this huge axe in both hands. He was some kind of exiled noble from some northern nation who’d come south up the Grey River with his loyal men and sworn loyalty to the Shah in return for a grant of land.”

“So the oldest girl is just made of ribbons?” Zany says. “Oh, how does that work? She doesn’t seem to have any bones.” Keris senses an angry-yet-silent huff from Eko because she does have bones, mana, they’re made of white jade and she just keeps them hidden because it’d be rude for a girl to walk around with her bones showing. Of course, the people on the outside know nothing about the decidedly crowded feeling in Keris’ head which comes from everyone piling into the viewing room to look through her eyes. “Well, I suppose she is a spirit. They probably don’t need bones. And the older boy… Rathan, yes? He’s gorgeous! Even with the horns. Oh, and what are these cute little spirits with the sea-shell-like heads with him?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer, because Keris’ cousin seems to have entered full powered-up ‘mothers talking about children’ mode and she all-but-snatches the book from Keris’ hands so she can look at them faster.

“Who’s next? This girl?”

“Haneyl. She’s…”

“Oh, you had the same idea, I see. Look here, Hany, this girl here is sort of your cousin-ish except she’s a spirit, and she’s pretty too. And her name is nearly the same as yours.”

Hany crosses her arms. “She can’t steal my name!”

For some reason, that produces gales of laughter within Keris’ head, and the un-sound of Eko falling over and kicking her legs in the air because she’s laughing too much to stand up.

“She’s such a dignified little lady! So pretty! She looks like she’s a shahbanu with that crown and those golden robes. And next… Calesco? She looks so sad! Why is she sad? Oh, but she’s happy here, and she’s really very pretty for all that she hides herself up! She shouldn’t! And…” she turns the page and tails off.

“That was what I was trying to say,” Ali says. “He…”

“I know!” Zany gently reaches out to almost brush the page. “Vali, right? He looks _so much_ like you did at the same age, Ali! Not exactly the same, his face is a bit different and his hair is much longer, but he looks just like you!”

“All of them have a sort of... other parent, as much as spirits can,” Keris says quietly. “A loved one of mine who was in my thoughts a lot around when they were born, who they take after in looks and personality a little. Eko and Calesco are full sisters, and Haneyl and Vali share a parent too - that difference you see is the Dynast in them. Haneyl’s with her now, back in the Southwest. And Rathan and Zanara take after my old partner from Nexus. He was Northern. Rathan favours him a lot.”

She smiles wistfully at a picture of Rathan drawn only a few weeks ago, looking regally beautiful against the backdrop of a ship, then flips forward and strokes Vali’s picture fondly. “But you can still imagine how much of a shock it was for me, seeing Ali when I first arrived here. Maybe you’ll get to meet him someday - I’d like for you to meet them all eventually, if you want to. But I promised this new moon to Rathan, and I need his help with getting you all to Terema besides.”

Zany keeps on working her way through the book, making excitable and happy noises whenever she finds a new pretty picture or something to coo over. In reviewing this, Keris does realise she’s rather favoured Zanara’s female form in how she depicts them with the male form only appearing in limited ways - but then again, that might be for the best here. Plus, there were all those easy pictures for her to make of Zanara and Haneyl being sisters together and from the look in Zany’s eyes when she sees them, she’s probably determined to have another one so Hany can have a younger sibling.

But then she hits a separate bit of the book, before Keris can ease it out of her hands. “And who’s this?” she asks, pointing at Sasi. “She’s clearly the one you mentioned when you said that your Haneyl and your Vali have a Dynast for a… a parent, yes? Haneyl looks quite a lot like her! She’s gorgeous. It’s so unfair! But…” she turns another page. “Who’s this, then? She looks a lot alike… wait, is she the other parent?”

Zany has found Keris’ pictures of Lilunu.

“That, um...” Keris stammers, rescuing the book gently and flipping back to Sasi. “This is Haneyl and Vali’s mother, yes. Her name is Sasi. _This_ woman is... well, my mentor in artwork - if you think I’m good, you should see her work - and a half-parent to Zanara. My youngest is a spirit with two bodies. Rat - my partner from Nexus - is the parent of one. My mentor, here, sort of fathered the other. I’ve mostly got Zanara’s little-girl body in here; they tend to change the shape of their male one too often to... ah, here.”

Flicking forward, she reaches the Calibration pages - including the one with both Zanaras posing together. “All of them change a little at Calibration; become a bit less spirit and a bit more human. Eko becomes flesh and blood instead of ribbons, Haneyl loses the fire in her eyes and hair; that sort of thing. This is both Zanaras during Calibration, without any shape-changing. Normally they can only use one body at once; they switch between them depending on what they’re doing. The others have started calling them Zana and Nara to tell the bodies apart.”

“Well, they’re all adorable!” Zany states firmly. 

The men - who are aware that they are in fact demonic spirits - are somewhat less vocal, but certainly, the fact that Keris’ children are really no less human-looking than most petty gods helps reassure Ali in particular. Even Eko is just made of ribbons, so doesn’t _look_ dangerous.

Eko nods wisely, because after all she’s just made of tickles and hugs and kindness.

“Stop being an idiot,” Calesco mutters, hitting her big sister across the back of the head. “You’re a murderer.”  
  
Owie, gestures Eko sadly, rubbing her head while she’s bullied by her adorable little sister.

“We need to push on,” Xasan says, stretching. “I want to get this out of the way, and I don’t trust what the Vakotans could get up to down there if we leave them alone too long.”

It’s a painfully slow walk for Keris with all these slow slow people having to come with her, but on the plus side Zany wants to talk about children and babies and very soon Keris is carrying Hany who is riding in her hair and having the time of her life. It’s helping her forget last night.

In the end, it’s far quicker to talk to the monks and nuns up the mountain than it took to actually walk up there. Xasan makes his case, and then Keris makes her more socially adroit case which emphasises making sure the proper punishments are done for what they actually did. They set off back down with a selection of monks and nuns - including a few who want to see their families and make sure they’re all right.

The trials, fortunately, don’t really need Keris around. Instead, she’s preparing her soldiers for the long trip to Terema, and talking to the Baishans and seeing who wants to come.

((Per + Express, declare stunts and charms used and what she’s arguing for and how much effort she’s putting into it))  
((So Keris is basically convincing them to leave Baisha for whatever alternative seems best - hillfolk settlements for those who want to stay and have connections there, the temple for a few like Kazih the elder who might want to stay with her daughter, even going off on their own - but not staying in a town that probably has a target painted on it now and which has been slowly dying for months or years. She’ll enhance with Ancient and Firstborn when her own plans come up and Hidden Depths Temptress against specific single-person sticking points, as well as some resources in sellable materials to get them started once there.))  
((3+5+2 stunt+8 Kimbery ExD=18. 10 sux.))

She doesn’t insist that the whole village follow her. That would be absurd. But she does make very clear, in several public speeches to the Baishans as a group and several more private conferences with villagers who seem resistant, that Baisha as a settlement is too dangerous to remain in. It’s not a defensible place, and the Vakotan occupation speaks volumes as to how little the local lords care for its welfare - that the naib is dead means little when nothing short of divine intervention could prevent another from taking his place.

To those who plead with Keris to provide such intervention, she’s equally firm that she is taking her kin and leaving Taira. The reverb of utmost sincerity in her voice when she says it leaves no doubt or room for argument.

She suggests alternatives to those who aren’t ready to risk the long journey - fading into the hillfolk settlements as Zany mentioned, moving to the temple if the monks are willing to take them or they have relatives there, even striking out on their own - but her point remains constant throughout her arguments both public and private. The Baishans must strike out for new pastures and new lives - and she promises safe passage to Terema and some material goods to fund the transition period for those who wish to make a start on them there.

In the end, just over half the town chooses to come with her. Some people just are refusing to leave their homes - others are too old and can’t face relocation. A good chunk of the remainers are the ones who were apparently already considering going up into the mountains and only hadn’t left already because the Vakotans would have chased them down.

Keris is pretty happy with this outcome. Baisha will basically be a ghost town - but the real people will mostly either be coming with her or be going up into the mountains to their kin. The Vakotan wagons will be useful for carrying so many people who aren’t used to riding, either.

From what Keris fails to ignore of the trials, they’re progressing swiftly. Anyone who’s killed a Baishan is going to be hanged, but the monks and nuns are pushing back against the full-on execution that Xasan is pushing for. He’s not too unhappy with that, though, because the offer being made to the others is a choice between execution and the removal of their sword-hand, so they won’t be able to hurt anyone else. The mercy of Shamsun, they’re calling it.

Quite a few of them are choosing death over maiming, too.

The trials take long enough that the new moon falls before they’re finished. Keris spends the day preparing at the forge, leaving Ali and Zanyira with very strict instructions not to disturb her, and Rathan with orders to stay in the forge if he gets out before she wakes up. Then she wades into the river as dusk falls and submerges herself.

Her sleep is deep and - for once - almost dreamless. The only thing she remembers from it is the oddly vivid sensation of ice sliding across mirrors until it finds a crack, then becoming water and pouring through. She wakes before dawn, surrounded by icy water. The river has iced over above her, and the pre-dawn light paints the ice a rosy pink. There are a pair of arms wrapped around her, and-

“Rat?”

No, of course it’s not Rat, she realises as she wakes up. Rat’s dead. Has been for years now. The only place she can see him is in her dreams. And curse it, Rathan feels like Rat there, when he hugs her like that. He’s so much like his father in some ways it makes her heart wrench in her chest. She misses him. The tears don’t show underwater, but they’re there.

Slowly twisting away, she takes a look at her sleeping son-soul. Rathan’s long hair spreads out around him anchoring him to the bank. Even asleep, he’s somehow managing to sprawl. He’ll also probably need different clothing, she decides, because he’s just wearing the short and loosely belted robe that he tends to default to and that might be a little shocking to Baishan sensibilities. And, uh, attention-grabbing to Kuha.

He wakes when she reaches out and runs her hands over his velvety horns. He smiles kindly at her. “Good morning, mama,” he says, stretching out both his arms and his hair. The words come out clearly despite the fact he’s underwater. “That was quite easy, wasn’t it? I don’t know why everyone else makes such a big fuss about things.” 

He kicks up, ghosting through the ice without breaking it. When Keris makes her own way out in a fountain of water, he’s stretching, getting used to the feeling of being in Creation.

“Sky’s too light, and I don’t like the stars,” he observes. “And it’d look better if _I_ was up there. But it’s a nice shade of pink over there.” His hair has already dried to looking immaculate. “So, what’s for breakfast?”


	7. Chapter 7

Everyone else is still asleep, so Keris borrows a pair of fishing rods from her brother and sets out to catch some breakfast for herself and her family. Rathan condenses into materiality, dragging water from the river to build himself a body that mortals can see, and the two of them settle down comfortably.  
  
It’s Keris who notices first that Rathan is blinking heavily and squinting in the faint dawn light. He’s shifting around uncomfortably, too, and sweating. There’s even a faint pink tinge on his pale skin. And is he… _steaming?_

“Sunburn,” she diagnoses. “Damn, I should have expected this. You’re an ice-moon and something like a demon lord; sunlight won’t agree with you. Here.” Drawing her hair around herself for modesty, she pulls off her Amulet and hands it to him. “Put that on and cover up. Maybe something like what they wear around here - you’ve seen their clothes through my eyes. It’ll protect you from the sun _and_ make a good first impression.”

With a somewhat desperate leap, Rathan throws himself into the river water. There’s a hiss of steam as he enters, and a distinct smell of… Keris sniffs, yes, of the Sea. 

He’s down there for quite a while. Knowing her son - and she does - Keris suspects he’s splitting his time between feeling sorry for himself, wishing that he hadn’t volunteered to come out, and playing with new fashion. It’s long enough for Keris to handle the issue of clothing herself.

Happily, she’s been a seamstress since An Teng, and hasn’t stopped her work since showing off her new art to Lilunu. Most of what she has in her Domain are artpieces, heavily embroidered and beautiful things meant for display (or for... not-displaying, given how proper Tengese culture insists that ornately decorated clothing should never be worn openly). Still, it’s perfectly functional, and Keris shrugs on a pale pink áo dài with abstract wind-and-wave patterning picked out on it in gold.

She’s really starting to like that style of abstract art. It started off as wind-and-wave patterns, but she’s been playing with it and now it suggests branches and roots as well, and even a few similarities to certain forms of Hellish art in the flowing strokes. She’s tempted to name it something, but it still hasn’t quite settled. There’s something more she can do with it, she’s sure. She’ll just have to wait and see what.

Rathan emerges… even later than it takes her to get dressed. From the waters he rises, dressed in a sumptuous cloth of many subtly different shades of red and pink, trimmed in silver, with a dark blue scarf hanging loose around his neck. He’s got his hair up - well, more than usual - but Keris smiles at his cleverness because some of his hair is contained up in a turban, through which his horns poke. It makes the horns look like they’re part of a headdress, at least to a first glance. He’s also wearing dark glass glasses over his eyes, like many people do out at sea in the South. He’s probably just doing it to avoid having to look at the sunlight, but it also hides his pearly eyes from onlookers.

He is also still quite sunburned - more burned than Keris gets from hours out under the midday sun at the height of the year.  
  
“Ow,” he says ruefully. “Mama, couldn’t you have warned me about that? Ligier never did that to me!”

“I’m sorry, darling,” she apologises, moving forward to kiss him on the forehead. “The sun hurts demons, but you aren’t of Hell. I didn’t think it would burn you so badly. Here, let me tend to that sunburn inside, and we can introduce you as everyone else wakes up.”

Rathan has been fretted over, soothed and kissed better by the time the first member of the family comes downstairs, loudly and hungrily. Apparently today little Hanilyia is the first up. She gets halfway across the room before noticing its occupants - one familiar and one not - and stopping to stare.

“... you’re from the book,” she opines shyly, made suddenly timid by the appearance of a stranger. “With the horns.”

“And you’re my cousin Hany,” Rathan says, kneeling down to her level and giving her a charming smile. “You know, mama told me what you said, and you’re right. My sister Haneyl really shouldn’t be allowed to steal your name. It’s very unfair of her to try to do that.”

This appears to win him a friend, and Hany is sitting next to him over breakfast and chattering about the political drama and intrigue between her dolls by the time her parents come downstairs. Keris isn’t listening with all her attention, but she’s pretty sure he’s giving her tips on how to grant them titles and keep them all loyal to her.

Zanyira is more perceptive than her three-year old daughter, and stops short at the bottom of the stairs, staring wide-eyed at both Keris’s new clothes and the new arrival.

“Oh... _my_ ,” she breathes, barely noticing a bleary-eyed Ali bumping into her from behind. Keris can taste a telltale scent in the air around them that makes her relieved she was underwater and asleep for most of the previous night. “You’re Rathan, then?” Zany continues tentatively. “The, um... pictures didn’t do you justice.”

... is she _blushing_ slightly? No, Keris decides. That’s silly. She’s just flushed from, uh... all the exertion from...

... Keris decides to stop thinking about that, and stands from where she’s been devouring some grilled fish. “Like I said last night, this is Rathan, my eldest son,” she introduces. “Rathan, this is Ali, my brother, and Zanyira, my cousin. Um, and sister-in-law.”

Rathan bows politely. “I’m happy to meet you both properly,” he greets them sweetly. “Mama tells us a lot and we see through her eyes sometimes, but it’s not the same as being here in person.”

“He’s a prince!” Hany announces loudly. “That’s why he’s dressed like a naib! He has a big kingdom and he rules over all the fishies and he has lots of friends and they live on floating ice towns and he lives on the moon!”

“I… see, darling,” Ali says, somewhat confused. “Forgive her, she’s…”

“No, that’s right,” Rathan says gravely with a smile, flashing pearly teeth. “Well _done_ , Hany. Just another way you’re better than my sister.”

“Well, then I should have tidied the place up,” Zany says, flustered. “If that’s the case…”  
  
“Oh, it’s fine, it’s fine,” Rathan says. “Your house is lovely, aunty. Or should I not call you that? Some people say it makes them feel old, and you’re too young and beautiful for anyone to be calling you old.”

That only gets Zany more flustered, and Rathan winds up carefully guiding her to sit. “I think you can prepare them breakfast while I get to know them better, yes?” he says casually to Keris, with an innocent smile. He looks over to them. “It’s my treat,” he tells Ali and Zany seriously. “Sit back for a while. Things have been just awful here recently, yes? I mean…”

Rolling her eyes, Keris gets them fed and pops out for a few minutes to pull Xasan out of bed and drag him over for breakfast. Rathan lights up when he sees his great-uncle, and hurries over to meet him.

“It’s wonderful that you’re getting justice after so many years,” he enthuses. “I _told_ Mama that you had the right idea about the Vakotans, and you deserve your place in their trials. Could you tell me about your work as kalatar? Oh, and you took revenge on the naib, too, didn’t you?” He gives a little bow of respect. “I’m glad for you.”

Like a squirming little worm, Rathan oozes his way into the family. That isn’t Keris’ opinion, of course - no, Calesco is there providing running commentary on her brother’s actions.

She sounds angry about how seamlessly he’s managed it too. Even Ali - who is the wariest on the grounds that he knows Rathan is a demon - is won over by his wide-eyed charm and doesn’t even object when Rathan takes off his dark glasses to reveal his inhuman eyes. 

“The trials will be finished sometime this week,” Keris brings up after Rathan finishes making everyone laugh with a story about how he and Eko once made an alliance to sneak into Haneyl’s lands and replace all her spices with toad-sugar so that her breakfast tasted sickly-sweet. “That will mean the start of the march to Terema, and with almost four hundred people and more than a hundred horses we need to start thinking about how we’re going to do it. I’m thinking we find a river and load the slowest carts and wagons onto barges - Rathan, can you help with river-currents to help speed us on our way? We’ll need to bribe, charm or force our way past a few forts and borders as well.”

Rathan’s perfect brow momentarily furrows. “I’ll try my best,” he says earnestly, “but this world _feels_ bad. It doesn’t just do what I want it to. It’s like being in one of the other’s lands, only worse because I can’t just fight to get them to give it to me. So the rivers might not do what I want them to.

He pauses. “Of course, it’s a good thing you asked me to help you anyway,” Rathan adds. He leans towards the rest of the family. “It’s not her fault, but Mama is _awful_ at any kind of long distance travel. She usually just leaves navigation up to someone else, because of how she never got to leave Nexus and so isn’t used to long distances. And when she travels at sea these days, she just asks me for help. She’s not quite perfect, but she’s trying her best.”

That produces giggles from Zany, which also sets her daughter off. Keris sulks playfully. “It’s not my fault open sea looks basically the same wherever you are in it,” she complains. “It should have street signs. And different types of road so you know where you are by what you’re walking on. And more buildings you can use as landmarks.”

Even Ali snorts at that, and Keris lets it go with a grin. “But still, I’d like Kuha to do some scouting for rivers we might be able to use. I think the main problem will be finding enough _boats_ for everyone. It’s times like this I miss my ship.” She pauses. “Come to think of it, I want to give Kuha some armour in case she gets caught in another fight, too. I’ll see to that today, and start getting everyone packed into carts for the trip. Xasan, could you take stock of how much food we’ve got? We may be able to find more on the way, but I want to be sure we have at least enough to eat for a week or two before that starts being a problem. And Ali, if I leave Rounen here for the morning, can you tell him everything you know about that drop hammer system? I took a look at it and made a few sketches, but if you can flesh out my notes it’ll help a lot in rebuilding it in Saata.”

“You could summon one of Vali’s keruby, mum!” Rounen pipes up from where he’s immaterially working on her to-do list in the corner. “They’re good at fixing things, so they might be able to work out how it worked!”

Keris acknowledges this with a nod, and he scribbles down a note about it before handing over her itinerary for the day.

“I know the way downriver,” Xasan says, rubbing his eyes. “I used to take river boats all the time on the Shah’s service. It might be a problem, though - the fortresses were always built to hold the rivers because they’re the lifeblood of northern Taira - at least until you get to the flatter areas around the Grey River and Terema. Otherwise, you’re having to hike over the mountains. Each river fortress and checkpoint is going to want their own ‘taxes’.”

Keris leaves Rounen with Ali and spends the next couple of days checking that everything is set up. Her mercenaries are already itching to go, especially since Baisha is barely large enough to contain them. Fortunately, Salma is a god-send when it comes to handling things - as a de-landed noble, she knows how to command a military force and how to organise baggage and supply lines. Keris finds herself relying on her more and more.

The trials are swift. The priests of Shamsun might not be quite as brutal as Xasan might have liked, but they find twenty-one of the thirty captured Vakotans to be murderers and criminals unworthy of life - or the Vakotans were ones who preferred death to mutilation. The impromptu gallows are soon very busy. Keris tries not to listen but she can’t ignore the sounds of hanged men and women - nor the screams when the sword-hands are cut off. 

She’s left with a choice with how to treat the nine mutilated Vakotans - how much to let them leave with, and whether they can really care for the seven infants.

After some thought and a quiet appraisal of the mood of the Vakotans, Keris holds a quick conference with the priests. “I can’t make unbreakable oaths sworn to the sun like the Children of Shamsun can,” she says, “but I can still seal lesser pacts and debts, and you’ve seen that I can heal. You’ve made judgement on the Vakotans, but the journey back to their home with seven infants and only one hand each isn’t one they’ll be comfortable making. I suggest I offer an alternative to them. I can give them back their sword hands - but in return, I’ll require them to swear oaths of service to the temple and renounce any grudges they hold. As long as they keep the use of their hands, the oaths will bind them. That way, the infants aren’t risked on a long and dangerous journey back to the badlands, the temple gets some loyal guards, nobody grows up with blood-oaths of vengeance and the Vakotans pay their debt by doing the work some of their victims might have done. Would that satisfy all sides?”

((Suggesting she uses Kindness Expects Repayment and specifies temple-service as their repayment, as well as a self-seed gorging-trigger of acting against the temple.))

The head monk accepts almost immediately. “I was tempted to have them all executed,” he says to Keris privately, running one hand over his saffron-dyed sleeve. “It would have been unjust, but I was so tempted to protect my temple and my brothers and sisters from what the Vakotans might have done when word got back to their northern savage tribes. This is a much more equitable arrangement, means no more blood is shed, and should mean that they won’t come back looking for blood-sworn revenge.”

Working with root-fingers and nimble strands of hair, Keris weaves herself a formal jacket to go over the dress before pitching it to the Vakotans; a tailored thigh-length cut that suggests the lines of armour and is a deep burgundy with minimal decoration to offset the pale pink embroidered gown and the bright scarlet of her hair. She offers the maimed outlaws healing in firm tones that remind them she has all the power here and represents their best chance; making much of the long harsh journey back to the badlands, the difficulty of survival without their sword-hands, the welfare of the infants and the reparations they can make as temple-guards if they accept her offer. Rathan accompanies her, and his light prevents any lingering grudges they hold from swaying their minds against her.

Every single one of the Vakotans takes her offer. Keris avoids smiling in public, but inside she’s almost dancing in glee - and even Calesco is only grumbling a bit about how this wouldn’t be necessary if she’d just listened to her in the first place. It’s not really a surprise - these Vakotans were the ones who were prepared to live while maimed rather than take an ‘honourable’ death. Maybe their culture says it’s cowardice, but Keris just thinks it means they’re the sensible ones.  
  
Especially since three of them are mothers of one of the babies. The mothers of the other four either fell in battle, or were hanged for their involvement in murders.

None of them are the Vakotans she recognises from the fight in the street. That is something she’s thankful for. She’s not sure what she would have done then.

Healing them all will be a full day’s work, so she arranges that and the formal swearing of oaths to the head priest for the next day, and retires for lunch and spear lessons with Rounen and Kuha. The former is happily filing away his story about the waterwheel system, and the latter smells like she’s found another bed partner from among Keris’s mercenaries.

Keris quietly ignores that, and moves onto the next item on her to-do list.

“Spearpoint further up, Rounen, and follow through on those jabs,” she orders, watching them practice in the yard of the forge as she eats. “Kuha, good recovery from that spin. Rest for a minute and come over here.”

Her friend trails over to her, panting, and Keris offers her a drink of berry cordial. “I’ve been thinking about the fight against the Vakotans,” she says, and continues before Kuha can start looking guilty. “You did well there; but you were outmatched by the way they were mounted and their weapons. So I want to give you two presents. The first is one of the spears I took from Eshtock. The second will help you all-round.”

“Hair like yours, Kerishyra?” Kuha asks. It’s something she’s been bringing up more often recently. Keris grins.

“Not quite yet,” she says. “A while ago, Princess Haneyl made some armour-plants that make their wearer stronger and faster and can spit fire at their enemies - like peronelles, but less smart and stealthy, more aggressive and empowering. I want to give you one as a familiar - like Firisutu and Rounen and Cissidy are for me - so you can call on it when you need more protection and mobility. It’ll mean you’ll need to eat more, but that’ll just let you keep up with me at mealtime. And if you can armour yourself like that, you’re a lot less likely to get caught defenceless like you were that night.”

That certainly catches Kuha’s attention. In fact, she’s nearly bouncing up and down on her toes because of it. “All right! I look forwards to it, whenever you have time! Will it be a baby magic armour plant, or will it be a grown up? Can it talk?”

She has a lot more questions, all coming out in a stream. Keris laughs, waving off the assault. “No, it can’t talk. It won’t be tonight, but maybe tomorrow night - definitely before we set off. It’ll be a grown-up, though it might leave a bracelet-baby bit of itself with you when you’re not wearing it, to call it out from. I don’t know what colour it’ll be, they can spit fire about as far as Rounen... yes, they’re good armour, no you won’t be as fast as me in it...”

It takes a while, and Keris eventually resorts to ordering Kuha back to her spear practice to get enough space to breathe. Rounen finishes his set and wanders over as Keris leans back and sighs, stroking her belly and murmuring to the babies within with a soft smile.

“Mum?” he says tentatively. “I was sorting out all my stories on magic stuff like Kerisa’s threshermen demons and the forge goddess’s stories ‘bout when the water-hammer worked and the stuff you got from the Lookshyians, and I think I found something you maybe want to look at.”

“Yeah?” Keris says, leaning herself forward again with a grunt. “Okay then, let’s see it. Why do I want to look at it?”

“Well, there’s all this stuff that I copied down in a rush before you handed it over to the Orange Blossom lady, and now I was sorting it and there’s a clay-cherub I know, Bava, he says he’ll draw some illustrations in my notes for free so you can have pretty pictures to look at and…”

“Rounen, focus.”  
  
“Right, right! So I noticed that these things were a lot like all those notes you had me write when you were doing all that stuff last Calibration for the big scary glass library Orabilis man. It’s using the same kind of shorthand, see! And there are all these circles and things like that!”

Keris takes the offered papers, and her eyes widen. Yes, there’s a _lot_ of notes on sorcery here. They seem to have been transcriptions of things that the Lookshyians found in the ruined city, perhaps in its own libraries - element-themed spells of the Shogunate with a military application. There’s something here that seems to be about pulling up walls from the ground - maybe the same spell the Lookshyians used to build their own fortress! - and there’s something about summoning a firebird elemental which explodes on top of an enemy unit and there’s something about calling in a supernatural ice storm and - aha! Rounen guides her to the actual thing he meant - about twenty pages of densely written notes in Lookshyian - and fortunately, the original Old Realm. 

It’s not too easy for her to read because it’s late Shogunate Old Realm, or rather it’s Old Realm written by someone who was used to the Shogunate language which was more like modern High Realm than anything else. Still she can muddle through. 

“The Rite of the Ship-Sprouting Seed,” she reads, lips moving. Twenty pages of dense Silurian notation - definitely the sort of thing that Sasi is more at home with, even if she did teach Keris to read that kind of thing. Already, she can see that there’s multiple references to jade in it. But then there’s an entire section entitled ‘Cultivating the Desired Construct-Ship Through Thought-Watering’ which seems to imply she can make different kinds of vessels with it and - well, at the very least it might be worth some investigation.

((OK, so yeah, these papers are a mix of complete and incomplete sorcery spells that the Lookshyians were copying from a damaged sorcery book they found. As a result they contain both a number of complete spells, and incomplete partial spells that can be used as components for researching, repairing, or altering spells.

\- The Rite of the Ship-Sprouting Seed (Floral Ferry variant)  
\- Fortification Number 04 (variant of Raising the Earth's Bones)  
\- Flight of the Brilliant Raptor (modified variant with a rather larger blast radius)  
\- Mela's Breath (a weather control spell that calls a sudden and fairly localised snowstorm - notes in the spell indicate there are lost variants which call on other Dragons to get different weather)  
\- Dowsing Number 03 (variant of Dragon of Smoke and Flame)

In addition, there are scattered and incomplete bits of a lot of other elementally-linked TCS spells that could be used as research materials.))

“Rounen,” she murmurs seriously. “I _really like you_ sometimes. Well _done_ ; this is a great find.”

The little flower-and-fire demon bounces almost as happily as Kuha under the praise. Keris sends him back to the rest of the lesson indulgently, and takes stock of her list. Family; happy. Vakotans and monks; taken care of bar the healing tomorrow. Food; being looked at. Transport... well, she can get around to the ship-sprouting spell later; it’s a nice day and she doesn’t want the headache she’ll get from bashing her head against Shogunate Old Realm and Silurian notation. She needs to summon a femkerub tonight and an erooltony tomorrow, but it’s still afternoon.

Hmm.

Some healing for her mercenaries it is, then. It’ll stop them being so itchy to move on, hopefully, and reinforce who’s in charge. And then some weaving to make a few more sets of clothes for herself and play with her abstract art style some more. The áo dài is nice, and the jacket is probably going to see a lot of use until she gets her amulet back, but she’d like to be able to move a bit more easily. Maybe an áo bà ba or something.

Keris gets to work.

And so it’s only a couple of days later when everything is ready to move, and Keris and her ragtag band of mercenaries and refugees - and also horses - set off down the valley, heading down from Baisha.

“It’s probably going to be two, maybe three days travel until we reach Ran,” says Xasan, huddled up in Vakotan furs on a newly acquired horse. “With this lot, we’ll be lucky to make ten miles a day. Ran’s the best bet for getting a vessel. It’s important, ruled by Huzza, and it’s where the Sula meets the larger Meshuga. Big enough that it has a proper river dock. But it’s not a safe place. Last thing I heard, the Illuminationists were big there.” He spits on the ground. “Bunch of nonsense, if you ask me. The locals are crazy about there being many sun gods. We weren’t so stupid back home. There’s only one sun - why would there be many gods?”

“Mmm.” Wearing a shalwar kameez of rough, I dyed silk under her jacket that’s more comfortable for riding than a dress, Keris isn’t really listening to his commentary. She’s looking back at Baisha - the place where it all started, and ended, and has now begun again. She was taken from this town when she was little, and her mother and father with her.

She’ll find them. Even if it kills her. She’ll find them, and make them safe.

((Keris has been wandering around the village these past few days between bouts of healing, soaking in her origins and thinking about what she’ll be doing next - this has been training time for Bound by Blood-Red Strings, which she’ll now lock in and use on - since IIRC it’s single-target - Maryam.))

The motley column rides off. Rathan cuts a particularly impressive figure, tall and elegantly dressed with his horns disguised as part of a turban-like headwear. In fact, the fact that he’s placed himself prominently at the head of the column and is riding like he was born to it means Keris hears more than a few onlookers wonder who the naib with the horned helmet is.

From his smug smile, he’s very much enjoying the attention.

It’s a flash of red that draws Keris’ attention around midday. She’s bored. Very bored. Everything is so slooooooooow. They’re not even past the place she picked up her mercenaries yet. Rising from snow at the side of the road, she sees a strange bright red twig protruding from the whiteness. Slipping off her horse with some relief, she jogs over, squatting down beside it. It’s pointing in the direction they’re going, and it smells strongly of coppery blood.

Frowning, she plucks it - and the redness and the blood smell goes, like it was never there. There’s not even a residue left on her fingers. She puts the twig back down, but the red colour doesn’t come back.

“Eko?” she asks silently. “Was that you?”

Eko shakes her head, the motion indicating both confusion and eagerness about a new puzzle.

“Mother,” Calesco cuts in, “don’t tell me you didn’t feel yourself unwinding your heart as a spool and line?”

Nah, Eko gestures, her heart is in her chest. She pauses. Or it’s outside because it’s also sort of Rathan, but that sounds like the sort of thing Other Mama would do and Rathan doesn’t know anything about Other Mama.

“You’re so immature,” Calesco gripes. 

And you’re so adorable and huggable, Little Sister, Eko retorts with a big sweeping hug as she pounces on and starts cuddling Calesco.

“Your heart will lead them to people you love,” Calesco manages to get out, in between her big sister’s enthusiastic hugs. “Just look for where you scatter your tendons through the world.”  
  
Keris sees a few more of these strange blood red… hallucinations? Clues? Something like that. But there are certainly more for her to find as she heads down to Ran. The first set of border guards don’t try to stop her once she tells them she’s just travelling down to Terema, though they do send riders ahead of her. After all, she does outnumber the border guards over ten to one. 

It’s on a dark cloudy day when they come around the bend and see Ran. It’s a small town built within the walls of a pyramidal border-fortress made of honey-coloured sandstone. There’s a few river barges coming to and from it, but none of the ones she can see are big enough - they’re small affairs with a crew of a few people carrying bags or barrels.

And there, four riders leaving the city and heading towards her column. They’re wearing padded buff jackets and each wears a black and green sash tied around their waist. 

“Halt!” the lead one orders, when he’s short of the lead of the column. “The kalantar orders you to identify yourselves and state your purpose here!”

((Incidentally, “kalantar” basically translates as “sheriff”.))  
((Yes, I know what it means. I looked it up after Xasan said he was one.))

“My name is Keris,” she responds, spurring her horse on a few paces to draw slightly ahead of Rathan’s and Xasan’s. “I’m in charge here. We’re passing through en-route to Terema, and hoping to find barges large enough to carry our group - or at least the slowest parts of it.” She eyes the river glumly. Nothing looks big enough, which probably means she’ll have to keep bashing her head against the Shogunate spell. She’s been working on it for a couple of days as a distraction from the mind-numbingly slow dullness of the pace, but it’s only barely an improvement in terms of frustration.

The rider looks the column up and down, noting the mix of mercenaries and obvious civilians. He seems to come to his own conclusions.

“Very well. Follow me, then. You’ll need to pay the taxes on the product you’re carrying, and the markets are a good place for you to resupply.” He clears his throat. “You may want to speak to some of the other merchants here,” he adds, leaning slightly towards Keris. “Others are looking for a convoy and there are bandit lords east of here because the crops failed in some valleys last year.”

Rathan speeds up to ride beside Keris, as they head down towards the town. “That was easy enough,” he says. “He’s probably looking for a bribe, and he was useful. You should reward him.”

Already grumpy at the mention of taxes, Keris pouts at the idea of giving up something further as a bribe. But, sigh, her son is right. And - she perks up - a gift will make him grateful to her. Perhaps enough to help her dodge those taxes and speed her on her way.

“My thanks for your advice,” she smiles at the man. “And the warning about bandits. Please accept a small gift as a gesture of my gratitude.” She wraps the words in honey and a seductive whisper of repayment owed, even as her mind works to tally up her ramshackle contingent and the cost of letting them pass.

((Kindness Expects Repayment used on the spokesman with the offer of, hmm, something worth a week’s pay or so; coin or a small measure of saffron. PoEU used to judge the amount and also what kind of taxes she might be looking at to let her not-quite-an-army-but-hardly-a-merchant-caravan pass.))  
((Just as a note, remember you have Haar-Hidden Dealings. Might be useful if you actually used it - that’s what Rathan was actually suggesting, IC.))  
((PoEU suggests that the taxation for this column is a Resources 3 expenditure for this group - and towards the higher end, several good horses at least. Possibly even more.))

A few brass coins - old ones, with the Shah’s head on them - are enough to get the lead rider’s eyes lighting up. “Thank you, milady,” he says with gratitude.

Keris looks over her column. By her reckoning, she figures that the taxes for such a column will be sizable if they realise that most of the horses are fine Vakotan ones - and this town puts value on letting through the people, too. It’ll be several horses-worth, at least.

Falling back into the group, Keris seeks out Salma and holds a quick, quiet conference. “Pass the word around to disguise the horses’ value,” she orders. “Dirty their coats, walk them slowly, distract anyone who tries to examine them too closely; that sort of thing. Hide the bulk of the saffron. Definitely hide the cash - and disguise the people guarding it as doing something innocent. Make sure everyone knows not to speak of what happened at the naib’s palace, or Baisha, or how much the convoy is carrying. If they try to tax us more than I’m willing to pay, they might try to insist - and I would rather avoid violence. So it’s better for everyone if they think it’s not worth much to let us pass.”

((Using Haar-Hidden Dealings to obscure the value of the convoy and how Keris came to be in charge of it.))  
((Haar Hidden Dealings doesn’t work like that - she’s using it to shield the convoy as it takes the dramatic action “Travel to Terema”, but it doesn’t protect specific things. It just generally penalises attempts to notice unusual things about it, among other things))  
((... fair enough.))

The convoy follows orders, and Keris - with a fair bit of personal annoyance - regrets not doing this earlier. It’s not like she wants to be remembered here, after all. The main body of her followers have to wait outside and leave the horses to graze on the scrubby grass, but she makes sure she’s got solid people coming in here with her.

The games of Ran are solid and dented, but still intact. It’s very much unlike Baisha - this place looks like it’s been attacked in the civil war, but it’s held out or been repaired. Inside the walls, there’s an overcrowded town of a couple of thousand people living crammed in here between the fortress and the walls. Presumably refugees from the surrounding areas have fled here. There are tent-shacks built on top of the older stone houses, and cramped apartment-housing thrown together on top of what had once been squares. The wailing of babies and the barking of dogs fills the air. 

Keris and her followers are led down towards the merchant quarter, where there seems to be more space - they’ve expanded the docks out onto pontoons built on sticks, with rickety warehouses constructed entirely out over the river. Tucked into this morass of canals and docks are some larger ships, but even those might only hold a few wagons of cargo or two dozen people crammed in tight.

There’s a vacant square where her escort can rest, while she’s led to a countinghouse where a purple-robed woman wrapped up in warm furs and wearing a headscarf sits in an under-heated office, watching over many other scribes. The sound of a printing press thumping away can be heard in the other room.  
  
“Yes? What is it, Douhani?” she asks Keris’ guide snappily.  
  
“Merchant traders, heading downriver,” the guide reports. “They’re looking for supplies and to head downriver and are lookin’ for boatmen too. About two hundred fighters, and a hundred-odd others - plus three hundred or more horses. And caravans, too.”

The woman’s brows rise. “That many?” She rises. “You are the leader of this caravan?” she asks Keris, eyes flicking to Rathan, and clearly dismissing him as Keris’ son - or maybe younger cousin - from the shared look and his youth.

“I am,” Keris answers, listening to the wash of the water a stone’s throw outside the building’s wall. Urgh. She must have passed this place without even noticing it on the way up, when it was only her and Kuha. But now...

“Name?” the woman demands. “Both yours personally, and your employer!”

“My name is Keris... Maryamdokht,” Keris says, switching out the surname at the last second. It feels... wrong, though. Not as natural as Dulmeadokht. She pulls on Rathan to make her words seem justified and cover the slip. “I work for Maliwa Lili.” This time the hesitation is only momentary before the old alias Sasi used in Nexus springs to her lips, from when they were working in Nexus together just before Keris’s reassignment to the Southwest. “We’re just passing through; we hope to make good time with any boats we can hire.”

((BOT used))

She writes this down, and the other questions she has. She pauses, and looks Keris up and down - but there’s something inattentive about her gaze. She calls for one of her men, another robed clerk with his beard cut short and wearing a golden - or probably gold-flaked brass - chain around his neck with five very familiar emblems on it. Keris tries not to smile as she notices her own caste mark - and Sasi’s too, and Testolagh’s.  
  
“Go,” the woman orders, “assess the caravan, then present Miss Maryamdokht with her fee.” She looks at Keris. “To be paid before they are allowed to pass, in goods, coin or bodies,” she adds casually.

Keris’s jaw sets stubbornly. “Not bodies,” she grinds out. “I do not deal with slavers-”

“But luckily we can meet the fee in goods or coin,” Rathan smoothly interjects, inserting himself into his mother’s space and calming her rising hackles by hooking an elbow through hers. “Our caravan is this way.”

Rathan is very charming and soothing, especially when he’s touching you. Keris has wrestled her temper back under control by the time they’re out of the building, and has lured the robed clerk into friendly conversation by the time they reach the majority of her caravan, clustered and waiting outside the walls. If he isn’t fooled by the measures she’s taken to disguise the true worth of what she’s travelling with, Keris fully intends to take steps to remedy that.

The clerk and his assistants examines the rabble, counting each head and taking in the difference between the mercenaries and the Baishans. The fact that the horses are very good quality horses goes unnoticed - the orders Keris gave to hide them seem to fool the tax-counters. In the end, Keris is given a bill that, while more than she’d ideally want to pay, is still fairly petty. They really don’t seem to believe that Keris’ group has all that much money to pay with.

((Roll for his evaluation, lol, 2 successes would normally have been enough, but HHD means he just fails))  
((High end Resources 2 payment required in ‘tax’.))

She grumbles about it, but Rathan and Ali join forces to convince her it’s not really worth starting a fight, and after only a brief period of stomping around and muttering about how she could just flare her anima and terrify the entire town into letting them past and giving them a bunch of boats, Keris pays up. She’s more interested in the messenger’s advice to talk to the other merchants in town, too - and drops a few suggestions that for a modest rate, those concerned about bandits on the risky journey to Terema might be able to join her two-hundred-strong guard force.

((OK, firstly, Per + Bureaucracy to drum up trade and make offers they can’t refuse as to “how much you should pay me to go with me.” Also, a separate Cog + Survival roll.))  
((Do I get a bonus from “I have two hundred mercenaries”? : P))  
((I’ll evaluate the results based on that fact.))  
((Awesome. Then:  
Per+Bur: 3+0+2 stunt+3 Kimmy ExD {patronage and kindness, demands payment, talent for temptation}=8. Aww. Only 1 sux.  
Cog+Sur: 3+3=6. 3 sux. Better.))

Unfortunately, Keris’ greed gets the better of her and she comes off across as rather unlikeable and grasping when she tries to drum up business. The fact that she’s asking for gouging prices doesn’t help much. In the end, only two caravans are willing to pay her steep fees.

((The protection fees she gets are together Resources 2-ish.))  
  
The fact that Calesco is laughing at her in her head puts Keris in a rather sullen mode, and she goes to mope around the docks while other people in her group go looking for more supplies in the markets. 

There! In the water! A trail of blood. Sniffing, Keris follows it - and follows it again, as it docks at one of the docks. It’s leading its way along the streets, towards one of the warehouses that’s older, and built back on shore, away from the modern dock-area. And then the blood pools there in that bleak structure, that

_ a big building, and so many voices inside _

that Keris remembers. Yes. She remembers its outline against the sky. Scaling the wall, she peeks in through a gap for ventilation. They’re just storing cut wood in there. Now, just wood. But there’s poles in the ground, with rusted loops for chains on them, and Keris remembers them too.

Vali is growling in the back of her mind, a low, rumbling noise that sounds a lot, lot bigger than he is.

The blood trail is running thin, but Keris follows it back out of the warehouse - the old slave pen, call it for what it is - and to another part of the docks. It leads into the water and heads back _up_ river. Back towards the west, back the way they’d come. Keris dives in, but the blood red streak dissipates before it gets too far.

“Maybe she escaped,” Vali suggests.

Or maybe whoever bought her was looking for adults, and the children were shipped downriver, Eko counters with a measuring-scale gesture. 

Keris sinks down to the bottom of the river and curses quietly. Her mother went west. But everyone she’s with - Ali and Zany and Hany, the Baishans, her mercenaries - are all going east. And they need her to get them to Terema, as a safety net in case of dire trouble finding them and, frankly, for her to make sure nobody gets any funny ideas about her things.

She **has to see her brother’s family safely off to Saata** , and set up the Baishans with starting funds for their new lives. She had a plan for Ali and everything - hire the Bloody Lionesses to escort them. That would ensure their safety on the trip - she did say she might not be able to stay with them the whole way - and buy her enough time to follow the trail to her mother and father before speeding back to Saata and setting up arrangements to receive everyone.

Except her mother’s trail is here _now_. Leading in the _wrong direction_. And... and she probably hadn’t escaped, because if she had, why would she not have just gone straight back to Baisha, where Ali was and Xasan would return? So she’d been sold to someone in these _fucking_ mountains, and might only be a day’s travel away, _suffering as a slave_ under one of these _plaguerotten_ grasping naibs.

Or she might have been sold on or taken north or... or whatever, and be weeks out. There’s no way to tell.

Keris _needs_ to lead the group to Terema. Keris _needs_ to follow the trail and rescue her mother. A Gale can’t do either properly. Keris _can’t_ betray her brother and cousin and uncle and niece. Keris _can’t_ betray her parents.

Keris...

Keris lies curled up at the bottom of the river and _screams_.

She’s not sure how long it is before Rathan finds her, swimming up with his face already creased in worry, wrapping his hair around her and nudging at her until she uncurls and accepts a hug. “Mama,” he says. “Mama, what’s wrong?”

Trembling with the agony of an impossible decision, Keris stutters out her dilemma, her hair churning up a foam in the deep water as it thrashes.

Rathan listens, and strokes her hair, and thinks.

“Mama,” he says eventually. “I don’t like this either. But the trail will still be here if you come back, and the people you’re leading won’t. If Grandmama Maryam is still somewhere in these mountains, she’s survived seventeen years and can probably keep herself safe for another few weeks. And if she’s further away, you can’t afford to take the time to find her until the caravan is dealt with.” He cuddles her close, putting a cool hand on her face where her tears mingle with the riverwater. “I think you need to get Uncle Ali and Auntie Zanyira to safety first, mama.”

Keris bares her teeth and hisses like a snake. She screams again. She curses and cries, and carves deep rents into the lakebed with Lance and krises alike.

But when her helpless fury is spent, she bows her head and agrees.

With her eyes red-rimmed and raw, she pulls herself out of the water and dries off before returning to the group, trying not to hate herself for her betrayal.

((Spending WP to suppress Mother Before Daughter.))  
((Keris takes 1 Limit from fighting UMI, even self-directed UMI))

Salma looks disquieted when Keris arrives back, and seems to assume that Keris - who still looks unhappy and distressed - shares her opinion. “So you heard the news too,” she says bleakly. “Damn Malra and damn that grasping parasite, Taym Matah.”

Keris blinks at her, still not settled from tearing herself in two. “Um?” she says, then remembers she’s supposed to be a powerful godstouched and caravan-leader. “I didn’t hear this news. Explain.”

The other woman adjusts her headscarf, tucking her hair back in. “Oh, I just assumed…” she trails off. “Nevermind. You are aware of the major claimants for the seat of the Shah, yes? There’s Perswha down south, there’s the Infant Shahbanu - and then there’s Taym Matah, that worm in the east. The shahbanu might control river trade, but Malra has the richest silver mines in the empire. My family’s lands were in territory he stole - and the word in the markets here is that he’s seized the Great Temple of Shapash.”

Keris can’t hide that she’s looking a bit blank. Salma’s jaw clenches. “It’s up towards the north, barely south of the badlands where the Vakotans come from. It’s an ancient temple to the Midday Sun. And,” Keris can hear her teeth grinding, “it’s traditionally where the shah is crowned. The shahbanu hasn’t been there herself - the monks and priests there refused to let her in even once she reached the age of majority. They say the priests there threw open the gates to him, though. Didn’t even put up a fight.” Her fists clench. “Rotten greedy priests, bought by his silver, probably!”

“I’m sorry for you.” Keris’s voice is hoarse from screaming, she realises, and coughs quietly. “We should... get the convoy moving, though. Get to... to Terema.” She swallows, and makes a determined effort to pretend that her eyes and voice don’t speak of a breakdown in the recent past. “Maybe you can strike back at him from there, or... well, should get moving and try to make good time.”

((3+5+2 stunt=10. Heh. Keris is feeling a bit too raw to put exceptional effort into it; she's saying it as much to distract herself as to urge Salma on. 5 sux.))  
((Okay, yeah, she actually _fails_ there because she didn't try hard enough and is running up into one of her core principles (which was, uh, not exactly hidden). Keris discovers her 4 dot principle of Revenge for My Lost Lands.))

The older woman’s eyes narrow to slits, and she almost springs to her feet. “Do not presume that my loyalty to you goes beyond coin-hire and do not dare to patronise me with talking of fellow feeling,” she says between clenched teeth. “I will do what the terms of our contract are, but that is all between us.”

And with that said, she storms out.

Keris’s hair twists and lashes against the walls as she forces down the urge to scream back - at least she _tried_ to offer sympathy, while she’s dealing with a blow every bit as heavy. But that would solve nothing and only make the situation worse, especially if someone saw the shouting match it would probably devolve into. So she sits and she breathes and she waits until her hair’s angry coiling has died down to only discontented flicks at the very ends, and then she takes out some makeup and hides the signs of tears before going out to chivvy her people into motion.

If she has to abandon her mother’s trail here, it isn’t going to be for a _second_ longer than she has to.

Xasan and Rathan, with whom she usually rides, find her a much less friendly travelling companion for the next few days. Rathan reacts with understanding, while Xasan seems confused. Ali and Zanyira are even more bewildered by the sudden shift in mood from slightly-frustrated to raw-and-crackling-with-tension. Keris barely notices them maneuvering carefully around her; deep in the Shogunate sorcery texts. If there’s one thing this layover _has_ provided; it’s a wealth of motivation to get them a large ship that they can move faster with. She practices with apples and twigs at night, aiming for small conveyances to start out - things she can burn to ash to hide the signs of her experimentation.

There are more towns and more fortresses in the next week, but with some practice Keris is used to lying and disguising their worth - and the smaller extortionists can’t ask for as much as Ran did, because they’re less important. And also, bluntly, because against some of them, Keris’ army would probably win even before Keris got involved. 

The spell is… interesting. It’s very much not something she would cast normally. It’s not even something that Sasi would cast normally. It feels… cut down. Compressed. Brutally efficient in how it’s been shaped and refined. On one hand, it means it’s remarkably simple as a sorcerous construct as she’s shaping it in her mind, but the same thing makes it very compact and dense. If her normal preferred spells are flowing things of letting her magic form shapes it wants to go, this is brutally hammering raw power into the shapes and symbols she has to memorise. Twirling helices, nonsensical strings of four Old Realm characters repeated again and again in various combinations, and then folding these constructs she makes into the jade. 

No wonder the spell demands jade, Keris realises. It’s the only thing that’s stopping the spell construct exploding from the pressure. Keris has to laboriously hammer each one into the correct shape, then place it into the channel as a place to pin it down. Like an insect trapped by a pin.

((... _DNA_ references? Really? And man, that Shogunate paradigm didn't fuck around.))

When testing it, sometimes she slips. One time, her will falters and everything in the jade armour unfolds. A nearby tree groans, creaks, and simply _explodes_ into tumorous grey structures. Branches become wheels, knots become windows, leaves become sails. The misshapen thing grows and grows and grows, until it’s taller than ten trees, and then sags and wilts, slowly liquefying into noxious green ooze.

“I’m almost certain that’s Haneyl’s fault,” Rathan observes from safely behind her, from where he’s been watching out of interest. “That’s the sort of thing she’d do. And then claim she meant to do it all along. Of course you wouldn’t be so silly, but I think her nature is trying to poison what you’re trying to do.”

“I don’t know about _trying_ ,” Keris sighs, after she’s finished swearing and kicking at the ooze. She’ll need to stitch herself a new pair of leather boots tomorrow, she reminds herself. And get rid of the ooze. “It’s more the spell than Haneyl. The sorcerers of the Shogunate designed it. It... it _wants_ to use Gaia’s essence in jade - the stuff Dragonblooded channel and use. I think they took a more flexible spell and hacked bits off and mutilated it until it was really efficient for exactly how they wanted to cast it - but that means that other people have a harder time. Like me.” She scowls. “It is not fond of Hellish essence, I’ll tell you that much. I bet the pressure on the spell-construct would be less if I were using Wood essence or something.”

She spits on the ooze, which bubbles and releases a foul-smelling odour.

“We’re not moving _fast_ enough,” Keris hisses. “I _need_ to master this, to get us a barge we can head downriver in. River travel is, what, twice as fast as the caravans? Maybe more, if you can help.” Her hair lashes in annoyance for a moment before she pulls it back and winds it around an arm to keep it still. “Speaking of, how’ve you been doing in commanding the river currents? I know you’ve been feeling them out.”

Rathan pulls a face. “It’s haaaaaaard,” he whines. “This water isn’t proper water and it doesn’t do what I want when I ask it to and it even refuses to flow through the air and I don’t have my moon so I can’t pull it in the same way. It’s probably because you spend too long doing things for the others that I can’t. Just like you can’t, either.” He sighs. “And I saw a river goddess in the water when I was trying to pull it. She was pretty. She had long wavy blue hair and all she was wearing was pond-weed. I think she was a river goddess, at least. I mean, the water was listening to her, not me. It’s so unfair.”

However unintentional it might be, the implication Keris isn’t giving her son enough time or attention combined with the spell-failure serves to effectively tank her mood again and sink her into a glum depression for the rest of the night. It isn’t until halfway through the next morning that she emerges from it enough to process the latter half of his complaint and remember visiting Rathan in his moon several weeks ago, and the wave-cherub she’d met who had a crush on him.

“Say,” she asks, falling into step alongside him at some remove from the majority of the column, “how is Oula doing? Have you left her running things while you’re out here helping me?”

Rathan shuffles around. “She’s acting _weird_ ,” he says suspiciously. “She’s doing weird things like you do and she went to talk to _Calesco_ about _girl things_ and she bought back a veil and she wears it sometimes. And dresses. What’s the point of that? They just weigh you down when you’re trying to swim underwater.” He perks up. “Even that water goddess wasn’t wearing a dress!”

“Well, dresses _can_ look very pretty,” Keris points out reasonably. “Remember Sasi’s dress from Calibration? And lots of mine look really good. Maybe she just wants to look nice?”

Privately, she resolves to summon Oula tonight. Not only can she probably help keep Rathan entertained, it’s probably a good idea to keep her from getting beauty tips from Calesco. Which is almost certain to end in some sort of disaster. Keris can’t even pick a most-likely one from the list.

Rathan pulls a face, and mutters something about how sisters are bullies and being made to wear a dress is horrible. “Fine,” he says, without much good grace. “It’s just… bleargh. When I got out, I thought…”

But what he thought isn’t something he has time to complete, because with a hum of a finger on a wineglass, a little long-eared blue glass fox appears before Keris, sitting up before her. Keris perks up attentively, hugging Rathan closer with a hair-loop and leaning against him as she listens. In all of the frustration of last night and the bad mood that it had caused, she’d forgotten that today was due a Haneyl-letter.

“Hello, dear one,” Sasi’s voice says warmly. There’s the sound of Tengese birds in the background, and it sounds like it’s raining. Just listening to it means Keris can almost forget she’s in snowy mountains. “How are you doing? I hope you’re well. I miss you dearly, and I wish you were here. Things are going quite well, and on business I’ve been in touch with that Hui Cha gentleman who wishes an arranged marriage. Things are progressing, though the family are proving a little unwilling. As it stands, I’m taking things slowly and I hope you’ll be back soon to seal the deal. But that’s enough work things, so I’ll let Haneyl say her part.”

“Thank you, mother,” the fox continues, in Haneyl’s voice. “Hello, mother. It sounds like things are very cold where you are. It makes me glad I’m not there - I’m getting more and more tanned, you know, just like you. Which is not something I’m entirely pleased about, but apparently that’s just how my skin reacts to the sun. 

“But that’s not important! The day before yesterday, Sasimana took me to my first formal ball! It was wonderful! She wanted to get me fitted for something with the local tailors, but I saw their efforts and they simply weren’t good enough so I dressed both of us! I wore pale green trimmed in gold, while I made something for Sasi-mama in deep blue and black. And I got my ears pierced again and she bought me special earrings that didn’t burn me. And I went as her niece from the Scavenger Lands! I wanted to be her daughter but she said that the Tengese wouldn’t understand and that’s a little mean of them, don’t you think? And…”

Haneyl goes on like this for quite a while, but manages to squeeze in a tiny bit at the end where she’s not talking about herself and Sasi.

“Also could you please get Kalaska a present involving foxes in some way? She deserves something nice. And I’m very pleased you’ve managed to meet and talk to our other relatives,” she concludes, by now talking very quickly and her accent dropping to rather Nexan from trying to get as many words as possible in before she runs out of time, “and I hope they’re very happy and you keep them safe and I can’t wait to meet them but you’re going to have to explain to the little girl that she’s not allowed to steal _my_ name including my nickname and that’s all there is to-”

She cuts off, as the glass fox shatters and disintegrates.

Keris rolls her eyes. “I hope Sasi points out that it’s unbecoming of a Realm lady to declare war on a three-year old mortal for having the same name,” she quips. But the message has lightened her mood, and she nudges Rathan playfully. “Hopefully she’s having as much fun with Sasi as you are with me, though.”

“Are you sure it’s unbecoming?” Calesco says glumly. “It’s probably normal to go for mortals who dare to use ‘Dynastic’ names.”

‘Well then it’s unbecoming of Sasi’s daughter,’ Keris retorts inwardly, and hums. ‘Actually, Calesco, could you fly over to the Isles and go root through the art stuff I got from Eshtock that isn’t the dragon with Zanara? I think there was a fox picture in there that I could give Kalaska. If not I’ll make or paint something for her.’

“Zanara will be useless,” Calesco sighs. “Nara was the one who stole it all, and they like staring at it all so much they won’t want to give any of it to her. I’ll get Eko to help take it if they’re difficult about it.”

Keris starts to respond to that with a “please don’t start another war”, but hears the beating of Calesco’s wings as she takes off before she can get the request out. Wonderful. Well, she can deal with that later.

“Tell you what,” she says to Rathan. “I’ll summon Oula tonight after I send Sasi her reply and talk to her about acting oddly.” By now she has the time difference worked out to have the message arrive in An Teng at late evening, when Sasi and Haneyl will be alone to hear it. “You can say something in it if you want to tell Sasi hello or share how hard it is to make Creation water do what you want with Haneyl. She has the same problem with plants here, so she’ll sympathise.”

“Well, I suppose,” Rathan says. “But… she sounds like she’s having much more fun than I am. She’s getting nice things all the time and she probably gets to do things with plants directly!”

“As soon as I get this...” Keris spares a moment to glare at the waterproof leather case the notes are in, “... _thrice-damned_ spell working, I promise you’ll be sailing us downriver. Once we’ve taken care of things in Terema, we won’t have all these people and it’ll just be us and Kuha. And when we catch up with slavers or whoever has my mother...”

She smiles grimly. “You’ll be my judge. Just like with Agemi. Just like with the Vakotans. Won’t you, darling?”

“Yes,” Rathan says flatly. “I will be.”

Haneyl’s pep-talk and extended rattling on about herself gives Keris the motivation to make it through the next day, and she finds she can focus better and isn’t getting so distracted. It’s a reminder of how much she’s missing Haneyl - and how Haneyl is usually the one who drives her onwards, makes her reach for more than she is, gives her the push to improve her talents and skills. Just like Calesco is the one who shoves her towards caring more from others.

That evening she summons Oula, sneaking off up a mountain so Keris can get away from anyone who might object to demon-summoning. Oula has had prior warning, so she’s had time to prepare herself.

Unfortunately, that appears to mean that Eko also had prior warning, and from the looks of things she has been… helping. Which is to say, not only has Oula got an over-thick layer of white make-up covering her face, but she’s also wearing a dress entirely made of red ribbons that would be described as figure hugging if she, in fact, had a figure to hug.

((Eko is trying to HELP as a BIG SISTER))  
((*quietly facepalms*))

“Eko?” is Keris’s first and only question. Oula nods tentatively.

“D-does it look bad?” she asks.

Keris considers. “It looks Ekoan,” she says diplomatically, which is enough to get a wince and a dejected slump. “Here, come on. I’ll help you into something else, and you can congratulate Rathan on how well he’s been helping so far. And join in spear lessons with Rounen and Kuha.”

This seems to brighten Oula’s mood, though Keris suspects that if Rounen were here he’d be shaking his head and making ‘save yourself!’ gestures in reference to the last part. His spearwork has been improving in leaps and bounds, but every time it does Keris simply raises the bar higher.

Keris feels she’s nearing a breakthrough. She doesn’t have as much time to spare for Rathan over the next days, but that’s because things are starting to work. On the sixth day of study, she manages to make a small boat with a giant leaf for a sail. Sure, it sank, but the principle is _nearly_ correct.

And on the eighth day, it works.

((Stunt the first successful use as you wish))

Calling everyone to a stop by the riverbank, Keris climbs up to stand atop her horse so that everyone can see her.

“We’ve been making fair time so far, but the pace has still been slow and I’m sure you’d all rather be in Terema sooner than later,” she calls out across the crowd, happier than she’s been for a while. “Well, I’ve been working on a solution! We weren’t able to find boats large enough in Ran, so I’m making us one of our own.”

She’s arranged the armour just out of sight under the water, and holds a cedar cone to infuse into it. As she steps down from the horse and begins to shape the spell, she can hear Rathan ordering people back, and feel the power building in the armour as she folds construct after construct into it. There are more of them than usual. She’s going for something big.

And then she slots the last one into place and it’s _perfect_ ; driving in like the capstone to an arch to hold the whole spell-lattice together under intense pressure, and the cedar cone she drops into the open faceplate of the armour buds and grows and explodes out from the gaps, creaking and groaning and sending out beams and planks and boards and walls and...

Her creation surfaces - water pouring off it - in a rush that sends her entire convoy rearing back with awe and no little fear; a huge river-barge with paddlewheels and tow-ropes sprouting from its sides and a low mast for what wind can be caught. The red-jade dragon armour is the figurehead; held proudly at the prow with one arm outstretched. The wood is greyish and gnarled, but some of the yellow colouring of the cedar has survived and the fragrance wafts from the newly-grown hull. Keris steps onto it as it finishes settling; the creaks and low groans of hardening wood echoing out across the shocked and silent crowd.

Eyeing the size of the barge relative to her group, Keris is sadly aware that they won’t be able to fit everyone onto it. It’s not a limitation of the boat, it’s a limitation of the river - she’s not willing to try for _two_ barges, and this is about as big as the river will fit. But it should be enough to get the caravans piled on, and leave everyone left on the bank mounted - with spare mounts for when the horses tire. That alone will speed them up by a lot.

“Rathan,” she mutters at a lower volume, “get over here so I can lean on you; that was more exhausting than it had any right to be.”

Rathan takes his mother’s weight, and helps her on her look around the river paddleboat. The entire design of the ship is vaguely familiar, and Keris starts as she remembers what inspired her. It’s like one of those paddleboats that’d stop by at the Nexan docks when she was picking the pockets of sailors - not the really big ones, the smaller ones that’d still unload hundreds of barrels of wine or crates and crates of drugs from Great Forks.

“It’s a very nice boat,” Rathan says, in that tone of voice he uses when he’s deliberately not criticising Keris. “It’s a bit wooden and grey, though. And the deck isn’t flat. And…” he pauses, staring at the bird-headed _things_ that are moving with intent over the desk. “Oh,” he says, after he gets over his shock, “you did say that it made a crew out of nearby animals, didn’t you?”

Keris nods. “Mmm.”

He sticks his thumbs in his belt loops. “Well, you’re awful around boats, so just sit down here and I’ll get things working. I know ships and how to avoid capsizing them. And we can’t just load people up here! The bank is too shallow. No, we’ll need to head down river a bit - I can see an abandoned village with a pier we can moor at.”

Rathan directs the magical woodland animal crew well enough, and a bit later a fox-headed sailor is throwing a vine-rope down and securing the vessel to a pier. Then he’s working his magic and getting people to come on board with bland reassurances that it’s perfectly safe and there’s nothing to worry about.

It’s nice to have someone else to do things, Keris thinks as she sits by the mast, getting her breath back. The babies are getting heavier and heavier and her bump is actively getting in the way when she’s not sprinting. They have to be due soon.

And speaking of motherhood, Zany comes to look for Keris, Hany carried on her hip. She places her daughter down next to Keris, who snuggles up to her aunt. “You made all this? It’s amazing! It’s like something out of a fairy tale,” Zany says, awed.

“It’s what I’ve been working on learning since we passed through Ran,” Keris says once she’s not so winded. “Sorry if I’ve been, uh... snappish. It wasn’t easy to get working.” She allows Hany to snuggle into her, and smiles - along with some wincing - as her niece feels the babies kicking and exclaims in surprise. Her display of sorcerous might seems to have roused them to shift position, and the boy is stretching and wriggling around while the girl sleepily protests at the occasional flailing limb sent her way.

“You probably did this too, you know,” Keris tells her. “Though - ow - maybe only with half as much kicking, since there was only - _ow_ \- only one of you.” She glares down at her bump. “I hope you two aren’t going to kick me this much once you’re out,” she says mournfully. “Especially when I’m feeding you. Maybe you’re both just eager to get out and see the world, hmm? I’m ready for you to be out as well, so we agree on that, for sure.”

“I didn’t kick mama!” Hanilyia protests, which gets laughter from both older women. Keris opts to sit and recover with her niece and cousin and let Rathan and Salma supervise getting everything loaded onto the barge - keeping half an ear on them for any problems. She’ll have to spread the word to everyone that touching the figurehead will a) risk making the boat fall apart and b) get the offending limb removed, she thinks. She doesn’t want anyone tempted to mess with her jade dragon armour. But she can do that later - and for now, Oula can watch it for her.

With the slowest elements of the convoy now on the river, things speed up and they’re soon making twenty miles a day rather than ten. It’s not as fast as they could have managed if the ship had been able to sail through the night, but the horses need to rest and they need to eat. 

The terrain is becoming more gentle and the mountains are lower as they descend towards the Grey River, too, with mountain valleys replaced with broad floodplains. But even here, the impact of the drought can be seen - the river is lower than its historic markers, and farming villages seen from the shore are abandoned.

It’s late one night, under a nearly full moon, when Ali joins her on deck. Keris is feeling trapped by the ship, unable to leave without the magic weakening, and people are too noisy in the day. From here, they can see some great camp of an army, fires burning around the temporary encampment.

Ali isn’t here about that, though. He’s here and he has the little forge goddess Amphelia Iron-Handed sitting on his shoulder. It feels like he’s been avoiding her - but as the journey comes to an end, he’s either plucked up courage or wants to get some things out before they get to Terema.

She halts her restless pacing as he comes onboard, and manages to almost get sat down at the prow before the worry about what he might want surges up and drives her back onto her feet. Her hair twitches and flicks agitatedly, and she works a length of wood between her hands with root-fingers lodged inside it. It started out with intentions of being a toy boat for Hany, but has fallen victim to nerves. By this point it looks more like a lump of overworked clay than anything.

“Big brother,” she greets him, doing a fairly poor job of hiding the tension. “Nice, um, night? What are you doing up so late; I’d have thought...”

She trails off and sighs, letting go of the attempt at small talk and circling around the mast to walk back over to him. “Yeah, never mind. You want to talk, obviously. What about?”

He picks up the goddess, and places her down on top of one of the hitching points, so she’s almost at eye level with Keris. “She wants to talk to you,” he corrected her. “And insisted I was here.”

“Yes.” The metal-handed forge goddess crosses her arms. “The red-haired boy, the one you call your son. He’s not your son. He’s a demon lord. And that creature that follows him around with the spear, that’s pretending to be a river goddess - she’s a weaker demon.” Amphelia stares at Keris accusingly, betrayal in her eyes.

“He _is_ my son,” Keris corrects, frowning. “And he’s not exactly a demon lord. He’s not born of Hell, and descends from no demon prince or Yozi. He’s only ever _been_ to Hell once, for a few days, because I happened to be there when I first called on him. And he spent most of the time reading and complaining about the heat.” She pauses for a moment, considering. “I’ll grant that he’s a lot _like_ a demon lord, though,” she allows. “In some ways.”

She stops her pacing and leans on the gunwale. “Amphelia. I promised I would punish the Vakotans who defiled your forge, and I did. I swore I’d get your smith and his family out of Taira, and I am. I gave you my word that I’d see your forge rebuilt, and I will. I’m not going to pretend that my powers aren’t a bit... demonic. But I’m not a slave of Hell. I’m not a slave of anyone,” she adds with a bit of heat, “and this whole quest isn’t anything to do with them. I came here because it’s my home and I wanted to find my family and make them safe; nothing more.”

She looks the little goddess in the eye as she continues. “Rathan isn’t malicious. The worst he’s done in Creation is complain about the water and make pointed comments about how the fish aren’t as impressive as the ones he’s used to. And Oula’s done even less than that, and you’ve _seen_ that I’ve kept my promises. I even asked priests of the Sun to judge the Vakotans instead of just killing them all myself - _and_ made sure no harm would come to the temple for it.”

“Can you judge my actions over the taste of my power?” she concludes, with a shallow bow. “I’m asking you to trust me.”

((Appealing to Amphelia’s likely Principle towards her forge, as well as using her not-particularly-blasphemous-or-evil actions so far as a “tool” boost and reminding her of Keris’s oath.))

Unfortunately, as best Keris can tell the goddess of a rural forge isn’t the best informed about the precise details of demonic hierarchies and the like. She just knows that Rathan and Oula _feel_ like demons, they’re certainly not gods or elementals, and they’re not chaotic or weird enough to be chaos-creatures so that means they’re almost certainly demons.

And she says as much.

“I don’t trust you,” the tiny goddess, barely the size of Keris’ hand declares. She juts her tiny chin out, standing up to someone she’s sure is far more powerful than her. “You haven’t done anything wrong yet, but demons are bad and wrong and should go back to where they came from! They make things go wrong and make it rain blood and frogs and make the metal heat up and cool down _wrong_.” 

She jabs a metal finger at Keris. 

“I’m watching you, oh yes I am! I don’t even know what you are! You’re really, _really_ big and you feel demonic and this boat feels like a demon boat and it’s tainting the metal of the armour that you’re using to make it keep existing!”

That last part draws another frown. A deeper one. “It’s tainting the dragon armour?” Keris moves over to the prow, tapping the armour and listening to the melody of the jade. “Hmm. Damn.” She makes a mental note to keep an ear on that. “Well, I came from Baisha, and Rathan came from me. Watch me as much as you like, I won’t stop you. Hopefully I can earn your trust with time.”

((Keris has shifted tactics to convincing Amphelia to watch but not act yet - and is also using Unseen Whisperer Revelation on the armour to AESS-check it.  
Cog+Expression analysis roll: 3+5+2 stunt=10. 5 sux.))  
((... Keris has also probably formed a minor Principle of respect for Amphelia’s bravery, because _damn_ , girl. She has a Measure the Wind function, right? So, like, she can tell that Keris is E9 to her E1? Wowza.))

The little goddess harrumphs, and imperiously gestures Ali back over so she can be picked up again. “Sorry,” her brother mouths to her, before he takes her back to the hammer she uses as a bed. “I tried to talk to her.”

Keris largely brushes that away, because she’s too busy listening to the metal of the armour wrapped up in the figurehead. It’s interesting, she decides after a while of listening and poking. There is something strange going on with the armour. In fact there’s three strange things going on with it.  
  
Firstly, and most obviously, it’s holding Keris’ sorcerous construct. The magic anchored in it is producing an almost invisible haze of tiny omen weather. that’s almost sheathing it off. There’s blood trickling down one leg of the armour before it gets absorbed by the plants, but when Keris tastes it, it tastes like… chicken blood?

But there’s something else odd. The fire hearthstone it was running off feels like the inside of her soul. She can’t open it up to examine it, but it does sound pitted and damaged by that. The calcified fire in the hearthstone doesn’t seem to like being stored in her soul and is degrading faster. When she touches the back with her hair, she can feel it’s notably warm.

And finally, and underlying things, the entire armour is subtly saturated with a very familiar hum. It’s a sharp, bold, crackling noise which almost echoes in Keris’ ears. It’s sort of like thunder and sort of like metal and stone and it’s 100% Vali.

“Vali,” she says slowly. “Did you... _do_ anything to this armour since I found it?” Visions of Haneyl’s crown - once the High Crown of An Teng - float through her mind’s eye along with a sinking feeling. She rather suspects Vali has gone the way of his sister and claimed an artifact for his personal panoply. That would make four of her six souls with personal artifacts, if she’s right - which means Rathan and Zanara will soon want their own to even the scales.

“What’s that, mum?” Vali shouts. There’s the sound of bleating and thunderclaps in Keris’ head. “We’re having a cloudhopper race and…”

Keris repeats the question, more loudly. There’s a clatter, and a loud splash.

“What, the super-mega awesome dragon armour? Nah! I just wore it a bunch. I had to make myself a harness to wear it properly, but I hardly touched it because I knew you’d get mad if I went and tried to make it small enough to fit me. Plus, I’d have to do it again when I get taller, and I’m going to be even taller than Big Sister! Just you see! What’s the problem?”

“It’s starting to sound a lot like you, that’s all,” she tells him. “I think if you keep wearing it - or maybe if you ever reforge and repair it - it’ll become more and more _yours_ , like how your sister made her crown _hers_.” She pauses. “Is that something you’d want?”

“Yeah!” Well. Her son sounds very enthusiastic about _that_ idea. “It’s awesome dragon armour that lets me be like a dragon even when I’m in boring human-shape! It’d be great!”

“Well, I need it for now, but we’ll talk about that,” Keris says indulgently. “It might have to wait until after this mission if I need to make another boat with it, but once I have something else made of jade that I can grow plant-vessels around we can see.”

In the end, the moon is nearly new again by the time the lights of Terema are visible to the north. The sun is setting, painting the western mountains red. The river they’ve been following widened and merged with the massive Grey River. It’s a proper river by Keris’ reckoning, which is to say it’s wide enough that the other bank isn’t visible. It’s much warmer down here - warm enough that there isn’t even snow on the ground. 

“Well,” says Xasan, “I suppose we have a choice. We could pause here for the night, unload the boat, and try to make a less obvious entrance in the morning. Otherwise, we could probably press on and try to dock.” He rolls his shoulders. “It depends if you want to take this boat into Terema. Can you sell it on? Is it worth anything?”

“The only things holding it together are the armour on the figurehead and me,” Keris says. “If I stay off for longer than a day, it’ll shrivel up into a cedar cone again come moonrise or midnight; I’m not sure which.” She considers this for a moment. “So if it were held together by something other than a very valuable suit of armour I guess I could technically try to sell it on to someone I didn’t like much, but honestly even that seems pretty pointless. We’ll camp here tonight and get everything off, and I’ll take back my armour and dismiss the ship.” And notify Orange Blossom that they’re coming, she adds privately. Hopefully the Bloody Lionesses are still in town, and the other Green Sun Princess won’t mind hosting Keris’s negotiations with Nandi and helping her get the Baishans started.

... yeah, Keris admits. That’s probably not likely to happen for free, given how much of a bitch Orange Blossom can be. Well, she’ll muddle through. Firisutu wings his way to the woman as the night draws in, carrying a politely worded advance warning of her group, an inquiry as to whether the mercenaries are still in town and a civil request to make use of the Sceptred Leaf for some negotiating.

Keris gives the distant lights of Terema another assessing look, and then settles down to wait.


	8. Chapter 8

Orange Blossom’s message comes back swiftly. “I am no longer in Terema,” she says curtly. “An incident has arisen in the Scavenger Lands and I’m travelling there right now. If you have any proposals or require my help, please approach my second Kazem Motahari. He holds court at the Sceptred Leaf and handles my affairs there. Be aware that as an infernalist and Earth aspect, he knows most of what we are, but do not volunteer unnecessary opinions or information about the will of the Unquestionable. I will be _extremely_ angry with you if I have to rush back to handle him, do you understand, Keris?”

Keris scowls. In her opinion, if Orange Blossom has her thralls set up so poorly that it only takes a few stray comments to knock them into disarray, she deserves to have them scattered. But that’s an attitude unlikely to win her any help from the Sceptred Leaf, and at the very least the fact that Orange Blossom isn’t resident in Terema at the moment means she won’t have to deal with the woman in person.

Just her... loyal Dragonblooded second-in-command who can hold things down for her at home while she goes swanning off on other business - probably to enrich herself like she had a couple of years ago when Keris had needed her help.

Keris’s scowl deepens, and she mutters some unkind and resentful things concerning Orange Blossom’s heritage and personal habits.

Then she goes to find Salma Hegum. She and the wandering noble haven’t really been speaking to each other much since their fight, but the woman _has_ been invaluable in getting everyone here - and now that Keris is only a day or two from being able to set out on her mother’s trail, she’s not feeling nearly as raw or hostile.

((Rolling Compassion vs Possessiveness - 4 sux vs 2. Two fine gifts it is!))

“Salma Hegum,” she says when she finally corners the woman supervising the horse-herding. “I know we’ve disagreed, but now that we’re soon to part I wanted to thank you for your service - without your work I wouldn’t have been able to bring my village this far. Take two steeds of your choosing from the herd as a gesture of my gratitude - and this.”

She offers the huge woman her second gift - one of the dozen or so Shogunate spears she took from the ruins of Eshtock. “It’s a weapon of a lost age; lighter, stronger and keener than any normal blade. May it serve you well in reclaiming your lands - and should we ever meet again; let it be as friends.”

((Offering the gifts partly from Calescoid reasons, but also with a Rathanite edge as a power display and a reward from a superior to a subordinate who’s excelled.))  
((Any Charms in use here?))  
((Hmm. For once, I actually think no - beyond maybe an Excellency to present the gifts appropriately. Keris is working from Rathan and Calesco here - and the former agrees that Salma has helped them a lot and that this is balancing the scales. It’s not a Shashalme-like gift with a hook in it; it’s clearing a debt.))

Adjusting the sit of the fur hat she’s wearing over her headscarf, the other woman raises one hand in a warding gesture. “Not until this is over and you have provided the healing that you promised as payment,” she says seriously. “First we will resolve this contract; after that, a gift is between two women who know each other. It should not be tainted by the influence of coin-hire.” She pauses. “But thank you, and that is a princely gift,” she adds, smiling.

The next morning, they’re heading in to Terema, and everything is shouting men and women and the confusion of a lot of things happening everywhere. There’s the requirement to find a place for Keris’ forces to hitch their tents and there’s more taxes to pay, this time to the Shahbanu, and there’s all kinds of administrative things that Keris doesn’t care about and leaves to Salma. She’s noticed that the other woman has been building contacts with the other mercenary groups over the course of the past month, and she suspects she’s planning to keep at least some of the group together as a small mercenary army rather than just her and the remnants of her sworn retainers.

Keris leaves them to it, and with Kuha and Rathan heads towards the Sceptred Leaf in Terema proper rather than the tent city around it.  
  
“Now, this is more like it,” Rathan says happily, as they enter the sandalwood-scented interior of the hotel. “It’s warm and it smells nice and everything looks comfortable and there are lots of pretty things around.” His eyes are following a handsome young man who’s one of the employees.

“Oh yes,” Kuha agrees, eyes on the same man. “Kerishyra, if we are to be meeting someone important, obviously you need time to relax here and clean up because we have been riding a lot time and there has not been any proper warm baths or anything. And maybe also change into clothes made for pleasure rather than warmth. And maybe also some sleep before anything stressful is done. The beds here were very nice - and comfortable.” She pauses. “You also need to be passing as the Cinnamon lady, and she was clean and pretty.”

“Yes, yes,” Rathan adds quickly. “You deserve something nice after so much stress and hassle and being stuck on that boat for so long.”

((Well, if Rathan and Kuha are going to _bend Keris’s arm_ about it... : P))  
((Of course they are. They're terrible.))  
((And I’m sure they have no ulterior motives at all.))  
((They only want what's best for Keris.))  
((Of course.))

“Well, if you insist,” Keris smirks, and makes a quick elective decision. “Kuha, please find out if the Bloody Lionesses are still in town - I don’t need a meeting arranged, just to know if they’re here or not. Rathan, could you come and help me get settled into Cinnamon? I have something I’d like to talk to you about.”

Fortunately, as Keris has been before she knows people - and with a little bit of titanic power to smooth things over, the fact that she’s windblown and her travelling clothes need a wash doesn’t make a difference as she picks out three rooms in one of the adjoining room. Three rooms are more pricey than she wanted, but after some thought she decides she needs some privacy, but she’s also not prepared to trust Rathan and Kuha to share.

Some orders have the servants here heating up a private part of the linked bathhouse, and soon Keris and Rathan have shut themselves away in the steamy room, along with the food and drink she’s ordered. Keris makes sure that no one is listening in, and gestures to Rathan that it’s safe to speak freely.  
  
“What is it, mama?” Rathan asks, eyes looking hungrily at the warm clean water.

Keris keeps a modest veil of hair between them as she disrobes and slips into the water with a happy sigh, turning away to give Rathan some privacy and gesturing that he can follow suit. “Mmm. Well, it took long enough getting here that the new moon is approaching. As,” she adds with a significant glance downwards, “is my due date. I don’t necessarily have to call anyone out this month, but I could - and once the babies are born, I’ll need help caring for them. I haven’t settled either way on whether to summon anyone at all, let alone who, but I wanted your thoughts before I made a decision.”

Keris can _see_ Rathan bite back at his immediate response that he doesn’t want anyone else taking her time away from him. He screws up his face as he gives the question some serious thought.  
  
“I suppose,” he says slowly, “it depends on what you want to do. If you’re planning to do some serious fighting, you might want someone else to help because they’re all _so_ much more violent than me and they like being rough and tumble. Eko is probably always an awful idea, because she’s so… Eko. And also because she doesn’t like loud noises and crying babies are loud.”

Harsh but fair, Eko opines with a wobbly hand.

Rathan grits his teeth. “I… suppose… Calesco might be good with babies,” he says, very very reluctantly. “Vali would be way more fun. Oh, but if you let him out, there’ll only be girls in there and then they’ll go and make the whole world girly. Zanara might be okay, but, uh, he probably shouldn’t make a body around here because they’ll get scared of him and call him weird and that’ll hurt his feelings.” He sighs. “Haneyl would probably be really useful around here but she’d be really annoying about it,” he says mournfully. “It’s a good thing she’s not here.”

His thoughts more or less mirror Keris’s own, though they lack the concerns she has about Calesco and Rathan getting into fights. Certainly, Calesco and Vali seem the only reasonable options to summon if she chooses to; since Zanara is too young and Eko... no. Calibration taught her how hard it is to corral a bored Eko who doesn’t need to sleep.

Eko pouts quietly at how mean her mama is. Keris bestows a mental eyeroll upon her, and turns her attention to the two souls who have yet to leave her soul in body. “Calesco?” she asks. “Vali? There’s another new moon coming up. How would you feel about me calling on you for help tracking my parents down - and maybe looking after the twins?”

“All right, mum! Time to get out of here! And kill slavers,” Vali says. She can positively hear him baring his teeth.

“I want to help you, yes,” Calesco says at the same time. “You need someone watching you and making sure you do the right thing, and I want to be there for the babies.”

“They really don’t make things easy,” Dulmea observes smugly. “Oh dear, child, were you hoping that only one would want to visit Creation?”

“Well, Calesco is older,” Keris tells them. “So I’ll call on her this moon and Vali the next. It may take that long to follow the trail anyway.” This is received with grumbling on Vali’s part, but Keris focuses on cleaning herself up and putting together an appropriate Cinnamon outfit. The pink áo dài serves, along with a gauzy, newly-woven silk scarf and some delicate pumps. She puts some of her hair up in a heavy bun, leaving the rest in its customary thick braid, and adorns herself with gold lip paint and eyeshadow.

There. Lovely and pretty again - albeit still very pregnant - and looking wealthy and exotic for some negotiations. Urgh. She needs a place like this. And luxury like this. And a lieutenant to run a place like this.

Stupid Orange Blossom having all the pretty things and help.

“I’ll want you with me for this,” she tells Rathan. “But leave the talking to me unless you see a really good chance to jump in and help out, okay? They already know me from a month or so back, and they should remember me.”

“Kazem Motahari,” says Rathan, rolling the name on his tongue. “Well, mama, it’s important you don’t go to this… Dragonblood as a supplicant! I hope you’re not just planning to ask him some questions because he’ll tell Orange Blossom if he feels like you’re wasting his time, and then she’ll be really smug and mean about that. Like Haneyl.” He taps his fingers on the wooden seat. “I think you need to be going in there with a business deal that profits either Orange Blossom or really him personally. Like the horses. Maybe offer Orange Blossom the right of first refusal on them, and then if he doesn’t want them, politely ask if there are any of her allies who would want them and make it look like you’re making things easier for her. Oh! Or enquire as to whether there are any of his personal rivals in Terema who he might want killed quietly and without any obvious cause of death! Start by putting him in your debt, rather than _asking_ him for things.” Rathan shudders. “It’s horrible when you owe things to mean greedy people,” he says darkly. “Like Haneyl.”

“I think I’ll offer him first refusal on the saffron,” Keris muses. “And funnel that money into setting the Baishans up - I’m sure he can put the word out among contacts to smooth their way. The horses...”

She pursed her lips. “Those’ll be part of more complicated talks, I reckon. Between me, him and the Lionesses. They might want to take some of the horses themselves in trade and the rest in silver - and they’ll have to discuss whether to let me buy them out at all, though I’m pretty sure they’ll go for that with how tired Taira is getting and my healing. We’ll have to work out contracts and stuff, too. And I’ll definitely need to tell at least Nandi I’m a Chosen - maybe bring her in on Hell, too. If she’s going to be General of my personal army, I’ll be trusting her with a lot - and that means she should know enough that the wrong comment won’t turn her against me.”

Meditatively pulling a thoughtful tune from the strands of Time, Keris nods decisively. “For now, first refusal on the saffron and the services of a contract-writer - one who knows enough that the healing won’t come as a shock. I’ll mention possible future business and maybe some personal favours my skills would be suited for. Hopefully Orange Blossom has filled him in on enough that he’ll be expecting me.”

A few messages are enough to get a meeting with Kazem Motahari that evening. He’s not actually technically working out of the hotel - instead, there’s a small building that adjoins it. It’s built to the same standards as the hotel, though, and decorated in the same way. She doubts that passers-by realise it’s technically separate.

More prominently, she also suspects that passers-by can’t hear the underground passages that lead into it, that are walled in smooth stone. One of them even seems to head down towards the river. What’s particularly strange is that she couldn’t hear that they were here last time she was here. It was like the tunnels were somehow hiding from her senses until she knew there was something suspicious about this building.

Gods and Creators, Orange Blossom was so horrible to do something like that!

The interior of the structure is very lavish, like the most expensive parts of the hotel, and Keris can hear countless thaumaturgical blessings and enchantments here - wards against fire, wards against thieves, alarm spells, and other little things. She’s forced to let out an impressed whistle. Speaking as a thief, she wouldn’t like to break into here even now. Back when she was merely human? She’d be caught in an instant. 

The servants let her into the office of Kazem Motahari. If she’d thought the previous decorations were lavish, this man is the equal of any Nexan Guild prince in his tastes. The walls are painted with gold leaf and rare gems bedeck the tropical hardwood boxes scattered here and there on surfaces. A nearly priceless diamond the size of Keris’ fist glitters on his desk, placed to catch the light from the blue-burning candles that surround it. Male-shaped neomah recline on the soft leather seats around the room, and there’s a tiny simulacrum of one of their towers in one of the shrine-like recesses in the walls. 

Kazem Motahari himself looks like he is in his twenties, but Terrestrials look like that for decades. He’s probably at least fifty, but Keris immediately notes that his hands are soft and lacking callouses and he’s completely unscarred. His skin is slightly darker than the northern Tairans that Keris has been seeing, but he doesn’t look like he has ancestry from somewhere else like Keris herself has - maybe he’s originally from further south. Jade and orichalcum rings glitter from his fingers; around his neck is a lavish amulet inset with a living tiger’s eye in amber. Even as she watches, it blinks. 

She is almost certain he is a sorcerer - even if it wasn’t for the demons around him, such an ostentatious display of wealth and items of power is straight out of the plays she saw in Nexus.

“Lady Keris,” he says, rising from his seat. He moves with a dancer’s grace; his voice is mellifluous and a soft almost-whisper. “So pleased to make your acquaintance. My lady has requested I see you - alas, she is occupied with other concerns.” He puts his hands together. “Unfortunately, I can only give you a half-turn of the hourglass today, as I have important meetings with Dragonblooded and demonic agents of mine later today, but should you require more time, I am sure we can schedule something for tomorrow or perhaps the day after.”

Keris could kill everyone in the building and take all of the garish trinkets for herself and maybe burn down the stupid lavishly decadent hotel on her way out. She’s not sure why that thought keeps occurring to her as she smiles at the man and settles into a (tacky, loud, tastelessly masculine) chair, but it keeps drifting through her mind and pointing out how satisfying it could be, seemingly for no reason.

... well, okay, the tone is similar to her occasional fantasies of punching Orange Blossom in the face and the other woman being unable to stop her, but that doesn’t explain how _insistently_ it keeps occurring to her. She hates the man, but it isn’t a normal sort of hate where she just wants to _destroy_ him.

She wants to be richer than him. She wants to be better-connected than him. She wants to have an office which people come to with requests for a meeting with her; full of trinkets and artifacts and wealth - but one that’s far prettier and more artistic and aesthetically pleasing. She wants a graceful, smart, trustworthy sorcerer-subordinate of her own - but one who’s loyal and doesn’t need things kept from them and is just _better_. She wants to beat Orange Blossom and Kazem Motahari at their own game and then _spite_ them with it.

She wrestles the raging tide of envy down and smiles pleasantly. “A half-turn should be enough for this meeting,” she says. “I’ve brought a caravan full of goods down from the mountains and have some plans that need funds - I think we can work something out that serves both of us. I’m offering right of first refusal on most of what I have to sell.”

The man claps his long-fingered hands together. “Wonderful, just wonderful. Take a seat,” he says, gesturing, as the wide-shouldered neomah bring refreshments. “Wine? Tobacco? Cocaine?

“Now, what do you have?” He raises one long finger. “Do please note I only deal in bulk or rarity. Smaller purchases can be disposes of in the markets easily enough.” He smiles broadly. “I won’t buy a horse unless it’s a fine god-blooded stallion, but I might buy a herd. And of course, my lady has briefed me on your activities with the Lookshyians, so I’m always interested in occult lore and the heritage of lost years.”

Politely refusing the drugs with a casual gesture at her pregnancy bump, Keris tosses her hair back. “Fifty kilograms of saffron, in a range of grades,” she says with a certain amount of smugness. “Along with a hundred fine horses, though I may not wish to sell them all - I have plans to negotiate with a mercenary group I met the last time I was in Terema who might want to take some of them in trade. For now I’m offering the saffron, and the herd can be a matter for tomorrow.”

“Hmm.” Kazem Motahari takes a sip of wine, taking Keris in. “I have contacts among the spice merchants - though you’ve chosen a poor time of year to be selling saffron. The crop is harvested after first frost, so the market is still relatively speaking glutted. Do I presume that you have no desire to be staying in Taira in the long run?”

“I’ll be leaving soon after my business is done here, yes,” Keris agrees. “There are a couple more things I mean to do after this stay in Terema, but once those are wrapped up I’ll be leaving the region.”

“Well, I do believe we can help each other. You wish to get an increase in the market price if you are to be selling, yes?” His eyebrows flute up, his plump face innocent and smiling. “The market glut is not desirable. So uncouth. If a one - or maybe a few - of the warehouses down by the docks were to suffer… unfortunate fires, why, the exporters would have to buy high to handle the demands of Great Forks.” He leans in conspiratorially. “The slaves of the traitor gods get through so much saffron for their robes and banners and medicines,” he says, his smile broadening. “A fire or two in the warehouses, and the prices will be sky-high before the ashes are cool.”

“That would be terrible,” Keris agrees, smiling with equal innocence. “I suppose if the gods are merciful, the traders here won’t be hit by such misfortune.” She pauses. “Are there any traders in particular that the gods feel particularly merciful to, or might unfortunate fires strike any of the warehouses in that area?”

He pulls out a scrap of paper, and writes an address on it, sliding it across the table to Keris. “Who could say?” he says sanctimoniously. 

Rathan clears his throat. He’s paying attention to the conversation now, although Keris noticed that he really was looking at the neomah for most of the chat. “I hope this is fair,” he says, taking off his dark glasses and showing his pearly eyes. He smiles, flashing inhuman teeth. “I can’t stand unfairness. And I think you’re doing very nicely out of this.”

“Perhaps,” Kazem Motahari says, a slight wary note entering his voice. 

With an idle toss of his head, Rathan flicks his hair and picks up one of the wine glasses, examining it. “My greater self has… interests in Lady Keris doing well out of this deal. Her interests and Keris’ are as one in this matter. As it stands, my greater self will permit Keris to be distracted to aiding you in this manner - but we will expect your assistance in later concerns here.” He takes a sip of the wine, and screws his face up in disgust. “Awful,” he says, putting it down. “If you don’t provide Keris your services in equal measure to how she helps you, my greater self will be… irate with you, personally. I will make sure she knows if you cheat Lady Keris.” Rathan flashes a sunny smile. “Which you won’t, of course, because we’re all friends here,” he adds, his eyes reflecting red light.

Kazem Motahari nods, looking away to shuffle papers. “Of course, of course. Hell’s interests and mine are never enemies. Of course I will provide my services in the matter of those mercenaries, if you wish.”

Keris doesn’t actually manage to answer that for a few seconds, because she’s busy feeling like she’s been winded by the mother of all gutpunches. She keeps her eyes on the floor as tears glimmer around the edges of her vision and tries to clamp down on the painful swell of her heart.

He’s _so much like Rat_. Silver-tongued and charming, sly and clever and deliciously ironic; lying and tricking and implying things without ever saying anything but the literal truth. Smoke and mirrors were always Rat’s tools of choice; playing on people’s imaginations and preconceptions to have them invent allies for him in the shadows or fill in the holes in his schemes of their own accord. Fooling a mark into helping him pull off a con that they themselves were a victim of was always his favourite trick. Keris has lied to the face of demon princes and kept things from creatures whose knowledge spans whole Directions, but she’d learned how from someone who’d been better at it than she’d ever be.

She manages not to actually sob at Rathan’s display of being his father’s son, but it’s a close-run thing. As soon as she feels like she’s got herself mostly under control, she forces a charming smile as if she’d only taken a few moments to consider.

“That sounds acceptable,” she says, and congratulates her voice for not cracking. “I met them last time I was in Terema - the Bloody Lionesses. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your meetings, so we can talk about the contract I want to offer them tomorrow. For now, we have an agreement about the saffron?”

The man still looks slightly wary, but he nods. “Of course,” he says. “I’ll buy it off you after the fire - oh so tragic - and then sell it over the next few months.” He pauses, clearly taking a breath and resetting their talk in his own head. “And,” he adds, with a cheeky smile, “if you’re looking for any additional assistance or would like me to see if I can get my hands on a few specialist goods to help Hell - or,” he adds, bowing his head to Rathan, “your patron, I’m sure I can name a few people who might just wind up dead from mysterious causes.”

They talk a little more, and then Keris and her companions leave, Rathan putting his dark glasses back on.

Rathan is more sensitive to his mother’s moods than Kazem seemed to be, and is fretting almost as soon as they’re back in their rooms. “Are you alright, mama?” he asks worriedly. “What’s wrong? Did he do something? I should-”

“Fine,” Keris chokes out. “I’m fine. Just... give me a moment...”

She swipes the back of her hand across her eyes, wiping away the beginnings of tears, and then turns to embrace her son. “You were _perfect_ , sweetheart. Clever and sly and protective, and the way you tricked him was...” she lets out a breath of genuine laughter, “ _amazing_ ; how you told the truth and fooled him with it.” She sighs, and it comes out with only a little waver of wistful sadness. “You’re so much like your father, you know. It made me remember how much I miss him.”

Rathan just stares at Keris, confused and a little worried. Slowly, he relaxes. “My… father,” he says, tasting the unfamiliar word. “What was he like?”

Keris opens her mouth, and then closes it. She sits down on one of the velvet-cushioned couches, patting the space next to her.

“His name was Rathan too,” she starts. “But that was back on the streets, so I just called him Rat, and he called me Kit. I met him... oh, maybe a season or two after escaping from Kasseni.” She grins suddenly. “That was back when I was a feral little house-slave fresh onto the streets; no more than seven or eight - but I still got the drop on him as he came through the alley I’d claimed. He talked me into letting him go, though. He was good at that. Talking.”

She sighs, leaning back and wishing for some chalcanth. She could probably get some from Kazem if she wanted, but the effort doesn’t feel worth it just now.

“In those early days I was just tagging along with him because... I dunno, exactly. Maybe he was just charming. People liked Rat. He had a way of being friendly with whoever - gang brats, squatters, poor kids ones with homes, street merchants... he got us a place in a house where we had a warm bed, and let me come along. And as we got older we just... never parted ways.” She purses her lips. “He was cautious, always. Held me back a lot. I might have joined the gangs, but he talked me out of it - said they were always fighting each other and it wasn’t worth it; that staying under their spitting matches was safer. And of course, the things I stole, he fenced. Charming like he was; he got more for them than I ever could, and I’d steal while he distracted.”

Her hair begins a play a melody - a soft, mournful lullaby. “He liked to bluff, where I always wanted an _actual_ knife up my sleeve when I acted like I had one. He’d... he had this way of getting people to fool themselves; I dunno how he did it. He’d make sort of vague comments and people would take them to mean stuff that... that meant things to them, you know? And he’d play along... he’d say something clever and tricky, and his mark would assume it meant Rat knew about his mistress or how he was ripping off his boss or whatever, and Rat’d manage to run with it even without knowing what the guy thought he meant - so the guy’d be scared and willing to do what he wanted, you see? Like paying him to keep quiet. Usually, I mean. When that didn’t work and someone called his bluff; that’s what I was there for.”

The song takes a grieving air. “He was sweet to me from the start - and not in the way where he got along with everyone. He’d share his blanket with me in the winters when we got cold. Food, too. We _got_ each other. He blew... gods, I dunno how many of his favours and bluffs in getting me medicine when I came down with a really bad fever when I was twelve. We were doing pretty well before then; we had a place to live and a chunk of money saved up and a few people we had dirt on. Getting me through that fever basically set us back to nothing. But he stuck with me anyway.”

She sniffs. “And then he just disappeared when I was... fourteen, fifteen? Four years before Dulmea, ish. Went out one day and never came back, ‘cause he cheated One Iron’s lot at a card game and they caught him at it.” She hangs her head as her eyes go far away and hollow. “I wasn’t there to get him out of trouble. And after that... well, the winter nights were colder. I didn’t get much for what I stole - and I had to try and make friends where I could, ‘cause I wasn’t half as easy with people as him.” A bitter smile. “That’s what led to me going after Kasseni. And then I got caught at it as well. He’d never have let me do that - not like I did. He always thought about the risks. About what he’d get against what he had to lose.”

A tear trickles down her cheek, quickly followed by another, until there’s two streams of them running down to her chin and her breath is hitching. “But he lost everything anyway. I... I really miss him, Rathan. I wish I hadn’t... but he was dead, and it was still him, but he was caught up in chains from that ancient fucking ghost-lord and he couldn’t see any way out, and he’d been trying for years. He’d been Exalted as long as I have now - how could I have helped him get free back when I was still s-starting out?”

Rathan almost immediately envelops her, wrapping arms and long hair around her. After a moment, Kuha joins him. “It’s not your fault,” Rathan tells her fiercely. “Don’t even think that. He made his own choices. You wouldn’t be wrong about that. Rat died and that wasn’t your fault either, because you didn’t tell him to cheat those people at cards.

He starts slowly rubbing her shoulders, trying to alleviate her coiled up, tight misery. “I would’ve liked if you’d had a way to get him free and on your side. That’d’ve been super neat. But you didn’t even have us, did you? You didn’t have us to guide you and think up new things. You were just alone, and that wasn’t your fault. Don’t blame yourself. I’m not mad at you even though I never got to meet him. I could never be mad at you.”

There’s no wailing or crying, but Keris lingers on the border between sniffles and stifled sobs for a while, soaking in her son’s support and leaning into him as he reassures her. Slowly she calms down and the shaking becomes trembling, and then clinging, and then just a quiet closeness that she takes strength and surety from.

“Thank you,” she whispers when she’s recovered. “And you, Kuha. I feel better now. What time is it? I should, um, probably let Sasi and Haneyl know that we’ve arrived in Terema.” She clears her throat. “Firisutu?”

Nothing happens. No weight in her hair, no chirp, no gold-and-silver monkey.

“... Firisutu? Come on, get out here, you can replace your arm with a prettier version later. I need you to send a message.”

Silence. There’s no response from her first familiar, inside her soul or out.

“Child,” Dulmea says. “One of my lesser bodies has found a giant pile of gold and silver on the edge of the City, just in the foothills of the Spires. I assumed it was Eko, but on closer examination none of the gold has melted. And the mound is vaguely ape-shaped.”

Keris blinks in honest bewilderment. “It’s not Vali? No,” she answers herself before Dulmea can even get a word out, “he’d have piled it up into a dragon. A gold and silver ape sounds more like Firisutu than anyone else with access to that much precious metal. What the hell is he doing?”

She tugs on the mental thread that connects her to her familiar again - or tries. It’s still there, but it’s twisting and changing in some way she doesn’t recognise.

“... he can’t be going sublimatus,” she mutters, frowning in confusion. A third insistent yank garners no response, though, so she blows out an annoyed sigh and gives up.

“What’s wrong, mama?” Rathan wants to know.

“Firisutu’s not answering my call, and Dulmea found an ape-shaped pile of gold and silver in the foothills of the Spires,” she replies succinctly. “None of the gold’s melted, so it’s not Eko. I dunno what he thinks he’s doing, though. Whatever it is, he’s not answering. Rounen, can you step in for him as a messenger?”

Rounen appears in a cloud of petals. “Uh,” he says dubiously. “What does that entail? Will it hurt?”

“I’ve sent Firisutu out loads of times, and it’s never hurt him,” Keris points out. “I’ll just give you a message to write down, empower you to carry it to whoever it needs to go to, then you tell them what I said and come back the same way.”

“Um. Okay, mum.” He straightens up, screws his eyes shut, and takes a deep breath. “Do what you have to do.”

Keris leans forward awkwardly to kiss him on the forehead, and begins the spell. It doesn’t feel much different to infusing power into Firisutu - then again, they’re both lesser demons of her own soul hierarchy, so perhaps that makes sense. It doesn’t seem to affect him quite the same way, though. His fires burn brighter, and his petals rustle and quiver as the spell coils to full tension within his little frame.

She gives him her message; using a little hourglass to time it right. Opening warmly with a greeting to Haneyl and Sasi, she quickly brings them up to date on what she’s done since her last message - sent halfway through the river voyage - and spends the rest of the message chatting about lighter, happier things. Including a brief explanation of why Rounen, and not Firisutu, is acting as messenger.

“Okay, mum,” Rounen says, frowning. “This feels tingly. What happens nowwwwwww-”  
  
Whatever he’s saying is lost as the spell snatches him up, and he vanishes off into the distance as a cloud of petals born on fire-streaked anima-wind, voice doppler-shifting as it’s lost.  
  
Rathan sniggers. “Well, that’s entertainment,” he observes. “Speaking of entertainment, mama. So, we have separate rooms and I’ll be sure not to disturb you when I get back, but I’m going to go out and take a look around Terema. This is my first time out in Creation and I really want to see what a proper city is like. I bet there’s a lot of interesting things I could learn here, to bring back to home. You didn’t let me go out and about in Malfeas, after all, but there’s obviously no danger here. It’ll be a nice treat for how I helped you!”  
  
His points sound eminently reasonable, and he has been so helpful to Keris today. Surely there’s no real problem with letting him go out on his own and look around?

((10 successes on his Per + Pres roll, playing off Keris’ “Pay Each Man Back In Kind” Principle as he frames it as a reward for being so helpful. He’s asking to be allowed to go out and explore Terema.))

She smiles fondly. “Of course - that’s a brilliant idea. In fact, I’ll come too!” She doesn’t want to stay all alone back here at the Sceptred Leaf - in Orange Blossom’s territory, surrounded by the other woman’s displays of wealth and luxury - when she could be spending time with her beloved boy. “I can show you around and introduce you to things. Oh! And we could make it a trip to look for beautiful art things for Lilunu as well. That gives us an excuse to sample stuff from the best chefs and look at the best paintings and poke around in the best fabric-shops and so on - and you’ve been good enough that you deserve the best that Terema has to offer.” Her smile cracks into a grin. “And this is a paltry place compared to Nexus. If we were there, I could show you...”

Keris trails off as she remembers the current political state of Nexus’s rulers. Her smile dims for a moment before returning; deliberately cheerful. “Well. First let’s decide what we’re going to wear, and then let’s hit the city!”

Rathan seems slightly put out by that for some reason, but the prospect of getting spoiled while also getting dedicated time with his mother is more than enough to win him over.

The sun is setting in Terema. It’s cool, but not cold, and the lights of the city and the massive dockyards are so bright in some areas that it almost seems like day. The Shah’s Market at the edge of the proper city and the surrounding tent city never closes, and neither does the Grey Market, built entirely on lashed-together boats and pontoons on the Grey River. There are great paddleboats docked there, carrying the goods of the Scavenger Lands, while away from the places where people come to revel are great trading ships, bringing goods and mercenaries and sailing away with silver and souls.

But Terema is no longer the city it once was. Mercenaries now come here to enter and leave Taira from the Scavenger Lands. The wealth of the imperial throne hemorrhages out from this city. Terema’s wealth is Taira’s ruin. But while it lasts, this is a great trading port, feeding on the civil war without surcease.

The markets here therefore are filled with the looted treasures of Taira. Mercenaries come here with plunder; gems, treasures, carvings, and they sell them on for coin for warm beds, fine food and the companionship of individuals of rentable virtue - all of which are advertised here. All kinds of things could be found here, if one knew what to look for - and could tell the fakes apart from the real things. Indeed, some merchants from the Scavenger Lands come only here to sort through the plunder and try to find things of unknown value that others have missed.

((So, what is Keris looking for? An hour or two of rummaging can just show up with some randomly chosen things, or Keris can be more focussed in trying to find something specific. Any associated roll will probably be of the ‘more successes, more weird things found’ kind, but successes might also mean that they don’t realise the value of what they have.))  
((Keris will be preferentially looking for art - particularly exceptional artwork worthy of Lilunu’s regard or novel Styles that she thinks her patron won’t ever have seen or heard of before.))

Keris and Rathan stroll through the hustle and bustle at a leisurely pace; Kuha having taken leave to enjoy the Sceptred Leaf’s delights. For once Keris isn’t in a hurry - she can’t obey the itch to go follow her mother’s trail until the Baishans are sorted out, and that won’t be for a while, which means this time is free for her. As a result, she’s a little surprised to find that she’s enjoying herself; trading comments with Rathan about the people they pass, digging through stalls and stores for the best on offer and stopping every now and then for food or massages or at boutiques for Rathan to model new clothes.

He doesn’t bother buying any, of course. But he seems to like looking over different styles to mimic later with the Amulet, and Keris is all too happy to indulge him.

For her part, Keris finds a fine array of Tairan garments, tapestries, and other peculiarities that have been stolen by mercenaries and sold on here - and there are more than enough refugees around here looking for work that it’s easy to hire a few porters to carry her many bags. She’s admiring a somewhat faded scarf in a deep crimson and trying to haggle the price down when a gleam of power catches her eye.

It’s a low quality store that seems to be buying almost everything that anyone sells. She’d already looked it over and not seen anything of value, but - ah, there is something there. It’s a strangely carved stone that was clearly broken at some point. It’s now about the size of a man’s hand, but it was also clearly once much bigger. Keris drifts over and looks at it more closely, trying to shut out the noise of the city as she takes the measure of it.

Her eyes flash green as she takes the thing in, and she licks it experimentally. Then - with an experimental shake - she cocks an ear to it as she listens beyond the physical.

Hmm. Keris studies it, frowning. She doesn’t think she’s seen anything like it. It’s not just that the style of the carvings is alien to her, and that the stone seems to have been _grown_ into that shape… which really means it’s not a carving. But inlaid underneath the stone are crystals, and the crystals sound like living earth.

She thinks the carving is… _regrowing_. That it was broken, but it’s healing itself. It’s alive. And it’s a stone that… that feels like a plant.

((Enlightenment 1, Earth Aspected))

She takes it - for a low price too, hah - and shares her conclusions with Rathan once they’re out of the store. Rathan sniffs. “Sounds like the kind of thing Vali is more interested in,” he says dismissively. He was starting to grow more than a little bored by the end. He pokes at it with his finger. “Why do you think the stone’s growing into something that looks made? Did someone make it like that, or is it just some weird thing?”

“I’m not sure,” Keris admits. “I’d guess that someone made it, but I’ve no idea how.” She grins giddily. “So we learned something new, and got a new question! Maybe someday we’ll find an answer for it.”

She wraps an arm around him. “I don’t know about you, but I’m getting tired. What do you say we head back and have baths and a rest?”

Down the street, a fight erupts. Brawling soldiers break out of a door, smashing chairs and barrels as they overturn tables and stalls outside. 

Keris and Rathan pause to keep out of their way - and also to watch. 

The way they fight catches Keris’ attention. They’re good. They’re both _very_ good, in fact. They fight better than any mortal. One is wearing the uniform of one of the shahbanu’s regiments, but the other just looks like a common mercenary. The man from the shahbanu’s army fights with a style Keris doesn’t recognise, all jabbing blows and soft tissue damage that seems to aim to incapacitate with pain and chi-blocking strikes, while the common mercenary is using the solid, stoic fighting style of Earth Dragon Style; holding like a mountain seeking to crush them in a grabble.

Neither is enlightened, either - they’re so very weak. But Keris wouldn’t want to fight a squad of them if she was tired.

((Both are Enlightenment 0, but are fighting like men with at least 7 dice from their Ability + Style.))

“You fucking cheat,” the shahbanu’s man yells. “I saw your sleeve! You had three empresses tucked up it!”  
  
“Did not!”

“Did too!” He darts in, with a palm strike that hits the other man in the arm and makes his arm spasm. “And you’re assaultin’ a soldier of her imperial ladyness.”

Other men rush in, pulling the two apart. “Ignore him, he ain’t worth it,” says one of the men pulling the mercenary back. Something about the way he says it puts the shahbanu’s mens’ hackles up.

“You a westerner?” a woman among their ranks demands.  
  
“N-no.” He sounds like he’s lying, and even the drunken soldiers can hear it.

The shahbanu’s soldiers stop trying to hold the other men back. “You know,” one of them observes, “there’s a bounty on the ‘eads of spies from Malra. I reckon we oughta bring you in.”

“It’ll pay for the drinks,” another one observes with a nasty leer.

Keris sighs, and considers. On the one hand, getting involved will delay her from going back to the hotel.

... on the other hand, she’s not tired, she’s capable of beating these men if things turn ugly, and a fighter like that - who is in a predicament he might not be able to get out of - could be useful to have grateful to her.

Also, while he’s probably lying, there’s still a chance that he’s not actually a spy, in which case he doesn’t deserve the shahbanu’s dubious mercy. Honestly, the stories about the young woman’s brutality are unsettling enough that he wouldn’t deserve such even if he was.

((Compassion rolled for 4 successes))

Stepping forward, Keris clears her throat and lets the attention of the group swing inexorably onto her; a harmless, beautiful woman heavy with child and her finely-dressed companion. “Gentlemen, ladies,” she greets them. “Is there a problem here? I wouldn’t like to see anyone hurt.”

((Activating AHG and MOE))

“Back off, lady,” a heavily set man says, pushing through the rest. He’s got a slightly more fancy armband, so Keris thinks he might be… uh, whatever they call talonlords here. “This scoundrel just got caught cheatin’ at cards and now he’s turnin’ out to be from out west, which means he could be a Malran spy. We got orders to take all people who might be spies to be questioned.” He coughs into his hand, clearly noting her wealth. “Beggin’ no disrespect, of course.”

“Well, west doesn’t mean Malra for sure,” Keris points out reasonably. “I’ve just come down with a merchant-barge from the mountains to the west, and that’s not even a quarter of the way to Malra. This man seemed to be fighting very well to hold his own against one of your soldiers, and it would be a pity to waste that sort of skill when it could be serving the shahbanu instead.” She smiles; innocent and clearly unaware of the crueller side of life. “Why don’t you give him a chance to explain where in the west he’s from, and _then_ decide whether to drag him off?”

“No, no, begging your lady’s pardon,” the woman who called him out said, “but you don’t sound like you’re Tairan. You sound Nexan, and you don’t know the way we talk. He slipped in the fight, and so did his friend, the one who pulled him back. And only a few people in here fight as good as us - and he ain’t a Perswhan witch. Malra’s been sending spies here to blow up the docks and the whole place is on high alert.” She pauses. “So move along. We ain’t got a quarrel with you or your son, but we ain’t gona let another Malran traitor slip through our hands. We’re taking them in for questioning.”

Keris considers this, but if they recognised an accent, that means they’re probably right. It’s how she caught the Lookshyian spy in Thorns. And from what she’s heard of Malra, she has no particular interest in supporting it over the shahbanu; not when she means to leave soon.

She gives the apparent spy a considering, apologetic glance, and nods assent. “You know better than me, I suppose. I’m sorry for interrupting you.”

Keris and Rathan stroll off, and behind them things degenerate into even more of a scuffle. Then there’s the sound of a knife being drawn, which produces even more knives. Keris turns, just in time to see the suspected spy without hesitation slice his own throat - and his friends scatter as a well-coordinated unit, even as the shahbanu’s men watch in shock.  
  
“After them!” the bulky leader shouts. Keris watches in shock as one of them races past her - close enough that she could probably have tripped the woman with her hair, had she not been too surprised by the sudden suicide to react. Which, given the speed of Keris’ reactions, is saying something. Damn, maybe she is going soft - certainly she wouldn’t have been so stunned at a death like that when she’d been freshly Exalted. Or maybe it’s just the idea of suicide that takes her aback. It’s not something she’s ever considered - not even in the cell - and while this isn’t the first she’s seen there’s always a special element of horror to them for her.

“... I think I’d like to go and lie down,” she says to Rathan weakly as pursued and pursuers race off into the distance. “And sleep. Sleep sounds good right now.”

Rathan tuts, shaking his head firmly. “No, mama,” he says softly. “You don’t get to go to bed now. There’s a bargain you need to live up to. Don’t worry, I’ll make my own way home - and make sure all the things you bought get carried properly by that lot. But you have something you need to do for that man. Then you can go to sleep.”

Keris blows out an annoyed sigh. She’s tired and pregnant and a little shaken by what she’s just seen, and rudimentary arson is the last thing she wants to have to deal with right now.

But Rathan is right, so she kisses him on the cheek and heads off towards the docks, grumbling only slightly.

((Diff 6 roll; 5+5+2 stunt+2 Coadj+10 Adorjani ExD {inevitability that bad things happen}=24. 11 sux - 5 threshold, lol.))

It’s the work of an evening. That’s how good Keris is at this now - that arranging for an apparently-accidental fire that starts in one well-guarded and well-protected warehouse and spreads to several more; decimating the saffron stocks without killing or seriously hurting anyone, is easy. She barely even needs Dulmea’s comments and advice - though she welcomes them, because any sign that her demon-mother is warming back up to her and their old comfortable groove can be regained is a good one. Walking away from the merrily burning buildings with several heavy boxes of valuable spices concealed in her hair, Keris ghosts her way back to the Sceptred Leaf feeling curiously unsatisfied by the lack of challenge.

When Keris gets back, she finds that just as promised Rathan’s made sure all her purchases are brought back. They’re stacked in her room nicely, probably by the servants at the hotel. Kuha has found her own entertainment, and Keris quickly backs away from her door. Rathan’s lights are off, and there is soft breathing in his room.

It is, however, not his breathing. It’s too small and the sound echos a little bit in a way it shouldn’t.

“Rathan?” she calls, alarmed. A blade of Ascending Air falls into her hand as she moves towards his door and...

... stops, and thinks for a second.

Oh. _Oh_.

Oh, hell. Dismissing the kris, she opens the door and pokes her head in, frowning.

There is certainly someone under the covers, tucked underneath, in a way which would make someone glancing in from the door believe that Rathan could be there, under the covers.

It is, however, somewhat let down by how wet the bed is.

Keris stomps over, and pulls back the covers to find a sleeping Oula.

“Oh, he’s in trouble now,” she mutters, and shakes the girl awake. Gently. Ish. Oula wakes to find the all-queen looking down at her with an expression somewhere between displeased and irate; albeit not quite directed at her.

“Explain.”

Blinking, Oula rubs her eyes. “Hmm?” Keris explains a bit more, and Oula frowns. “He said he was just going out to get some food for us because all the food in here is so _dry_. I wanted fish soup. When is he getting back? I’m hungry!”

Keris groans. “Right. Wonderful. I’m not sure when he’ll be getting back, but it will be with me, and it should be soon. Did he say where- no, I doubt it would help anyway.” She considers the relative merits of leaving Oula here against taking her, and decides that the cherub might at least get some actual food and a chance to see the city. “Right. Make yourself unseen and follow me. We’re going to find my wayward son.”

Much as she’d like not to think about it, Keris _had_ seen the way Rathan had been looking at those neomah. Several examples of his behaviour in Hell come to mind as well, along with his comments about scantily-clad river goddesses on the trip. And, come to think of it, the way he’d looked briefly upset about her choice to accompany him on the trip around the city.

... yeah, she has an inkling about where he might have gone. Urgh. This is going to be awful, and awkward, and possibly some other words starting with “aw”. Like “awe-inspiring scolding”, maybe.

Fortunately, Keris’ motherly instincts track Rathan down to a bar in one of the better parts of old Terema. Honestly, it’s really more of a tea house, except they’re serving spirits in very small cups.  
  
They’re also serving spirits, because Rathan is at the centre of a crowd, telling them all how he’s an exiled prince from beside the ocean and of the great wars he fights with his siblings to secure his full inheritance. He’s clearly been buying drinks for other people, or more likely charming the owner of this place so he gets drinks for free. Of course, he’s not actually drinking very much, which just makes the group around him even more inebriated. One person is drunkenly slurring about how they should, they should, they should just sign on and and and just defeat Princess Eko once an’ for all and then they’ll get their own land and it’ll be amazing.

Oh, and of course, Rathan has picked out a few of the more attractive people at this bar - including one of the servingmen - to sit close to him, and people are getting decidedly friendly around him. He doesn’t appear to know quite what to do about that right now, but he’s got an expression which indicates he’s willing to study hard.

Eko silently tuts inside Keris’ head, and smiles sweetly, indicating the hope that Rathan truly suffers an epic hangover tomorrow morning.

Pausing momentarily at the entrance, Keris decides - just about - not to humiliate him by refusing to play along with his story. Especially since it is, technically, perfectly true in almost every detail.

Thus, instead of dragging him out by his ear and scolding him, she marches up and gives him an unimpressed maternal eyebrow.

“You really shouldn’t go wandering off like that, prince,” she opens with a decidedly vexed tone. “Especially without any of your guards and with no notice about where you’re going. It makes people worry. _Especially me_.”

“Oh, don’t worr’ you’ prettyladiness,” slurs the very vocal drunk. “We’re here to keep him safe! All of us swore we’d,” he hiccups, “we’d be his friends forever an’ that we’d keep him safe no ma’er what.”  
  
There are cries along the lines of “Yeah!” and “What he say!” and “Another round?”.

“I’m sure,” Keris returns. The unimpressed maternal eyebrow is joined by its mate, and both of them bore down on Rathan. “But I’d still feel _much_ better if he came back to our lodgings and the guards he came with. Now.”

Behind her, she can hear Oula stifling some sniffles. Apparently the little cherub has noticed the common thread among Rathan’s seatmates, and the attention he’s been paying them. Keris crooks a finger at her son in a beckoning gesture, impatient to get going.

Rathan leaves with none too good grace, and a few kisses collected from his companions. “What?” he demands sulkily of Keris. “I was gathering information about how things are going in Taira. Not that you mind, of course! And I wasn’t even drinking anything but apple wine, because the harder spirits there were disgusting. I don’t know why you’re so mad!” He’s the very model of offended and unfairly maligned grace.

((10 successes on his Per + Presence roll. Clearly he has stolen Henriette’s luck))

Keris opens her mouth with a thunderous frown. Then stops, her face twisting into a rueful smile.

“The harder spirits; too bitter? They made your head spin, and the smell was all overpowering and nasty?”

He looks surprised, but nods. Keris sighs. “Yeah, Rat was the same way. He _hated_ bitter things, and stuff with really strong flavours. I’d half-forgotten, since.” She allows herself a moment’s reminiscence, then musters a frown again - but a much smaller one. “I don’t mind you gathering information, sweetheart, but please tell me when you’re going out like that instead of just letting me come home and find you not there. And you said to Oula that you’d get her some food, and I think she’s getting hungry.”

She glances back at Oula, whose eyes are on her feet and who seems determined not to cry. Keris’s heart melts a bit. “There’s a talk I want to have with you in private, and another different one I want to have with Oula, so we’ll all go back to the Sceptred Leaf and you two can each eat while I talk to the other.”

It’s getting late, but there are still places selling fish soup for Oula and Keris decides she needs some nice things too after her arson. She can see the smoke rising from the docks, blotting out the stars.

Taking her son and the little demon back, she relaxes in the lavish surroundings. But there’s still the envy and jealousy throbbing in her heart. She’s spent the past month, nearly, on the road and on boats. She doesn’t resent how slow all the mortals with her were, but… she does, just a bit. She could have been here for longer.

She forces it down, compacting it. There are other things that matter. Oula still looks upset, and Rathan is sulking.

She leaves Oula wolfing down a genuinely impressive amount of food for such a small creature and takes Rathan into the next room. Then paces for a moment, hair twitching uncomfortably.

“... right,” she says after the silence becomes oppressive. “Okay. This is going to be awkward no matter what, so... just listen. I’m going to tell you about Maiden’s Tea, and what it’s for, and a few other very important things like it, and you can ask any questions you’ve still got at the end. And then never mention this conversation again.”

She was right. It’s _excruciatingly_ awkward. The first bit isn’t so bad; that’s just a detailed explanation of what Maiden’s Tea is, what it’s for and how to use it. But that leads into how babies happen in the first place, and how a baby a girl isn’t prepared for can ruin her life, and why people have sex anyway. Keris keeps her eyes focused on the far wall, tries to ignore her burning cheeks and keeps things as non-specific as possible, but she can’t help but emphasise that coupling should be something done out of love, not just want or need.

If there’s one small mercy to the whole thing, it’s that Rathan seems to be as uncomfortable with the whole affair as she is. He’s not generally bothered by lounging around in a loosely-belted robe when she visits him, but apparently discussions about sex tread too close to the inviolate boundary between Girl Stuff and Boy Stuff. By the time she’s finished, he only has a few halting questions, and seems glad to escape once they’re answered.

“Stay in our rooms for the rest of tonight,” she calls after him, though she has no real fear that he’ll try and leave again. If anything, she reckons he’s more likely to go hide under a bedsheet or something.

“Okay... Oula? You can come in now,” she adds. _This_ conversation should be easier. No less sensitive a topic, but at least a less embarrassing one.

Oula shuffles through the wall, having not felt strong enough to manifest again yet, and won’t look at Keris. “I hope you didn’t shout at him,” she mutters. “He’s the prince and… and he probably was doing it for the best and meant well and it’s not _fair_ if you’re angry at him and…” she sniffles. “It’s not fair that I’m angry at him so I shouldn’t be, but I _am_.”

Keris sighs, and moves to one of the wider couches, patting the place next to her. Oula obediently sits, and Keris loops an arm around her shoulders just above the water-cape.

“I love Sasi a lot,” she says. “I’d do nearly anything for her. But I still get jealous when I see her around Testolagh, even though I know it doesn’t mean she doesn’t care about me and she was with him first. You can’t control your feelings, so you’re not to blame for them.”

She squeezes gently. “I didn’t shout at him, though,” she adds. “That was a talk about... well, some things he needed to know about this sort of stuff. You’ll, ugh, probably have to have the same talk when you get older.” She frowns. “If you get older. You keruby in general don’t seem to be getting older in the way humans do. I guess we’ll find out.”

Leaning back into the offensively comfortable couch, Keris considers. Oula won’t be able to see Rathan as being to blame for going off on his own, however much it hurt her. But assuming that he was doing it for good reasons isn’t really good for her self-esteem. Keris doesn’t want her starting to think she deserves being forgotten about.

“You know, he probably did mean well when he went out to get food, but that doesn’t mean he meant for you to feel upset,” she says carefully. “I know he reads a lot and he’s smart, but he still doesn’t know everything. And Sasi is way smarter than me, but I’ve seen her plans fall apart catastrophically because of something she overlooked or didn’t think of.” She nods firmly. “Nobody can see or think of everything at once - that’s what Rathan has dukes and duchesses like you _for_ ; to catch any mistakes he makes by accident. So even if he’s not to blame for it, don’t think that he didn’t mess up a bit when he got distracted by wanting to make some new friends. It’s okay to be upset about that - you’re not blaming him, you’re just mad at the situation.”

“But he was sitting next to pretty people,” Oula says, leaning into Keris. Her hands are screwed up into fists. “It was like they were being _unfair_. I wanted my spear. So I could stab them.”

“That...” Keris begins, and grimaces. “Yeah, okay, I’ve wanted to punch Testolagh in the face a few times.” She pauses. “More than a few times. A lot of times. Actually I think I _did_ punch him in the face once, when we got knockout drunk in the Northeast. It was great.” She pauses again, realising that this is probably not going to avert a furious spirit from assaulting random mortals unfortunate enough to catch Rathan’s interest.

“Uh... but bar that one time I don’t, because I know he loves Sasi and would do anything for her as well. She relies on him like she relies on me - he’s... worthy of her, I guess.” Keris wrinkles her nose at having to admit that, but it’s the truth. “Someone who wasn’t... that might be a reason to make them back off, I’d just advise something less obvious than stabbing. So, why don’t I walk you through proper makeup and give you some tips on how to subtly steer someone off? Your spearwork is up to par, so it’s about time you learned something new.”

“But it won’t work,” Oula whispers. “I’m… I’m j-just his friend who’s ‘almost as good as a boy’. He said that. He doesn’t… he doesn’t… all the women he was sitting with were all tall and they were shaped like you and he’s got big too and-and-and the princesses have got taller and more shaped like you too and Princess Haneyl and Princess Eko are even taller than you and… and I want to look like _you_ , not be all small and like the Princesses were when they were little, like the Prinz still is. Even Princess Calesco is being more shaped like you, even if she’s still much smaller than Eko or Haneyl.”

“You want to grow up,” Keris sympathises. “Stop being a child-spirit and get older, right?” She chews a hair-tendril, which idly bites her lip back. “I... I don’t know, Oula. When the keruby came to be, they were children because my souls were still children. Now some of them have matured, and the keruby are still young. The oldest of your kind _are_ changing in small ways.” She casts her mind around for examples. “The eldest mezkeruby are growing their masks. Rounen and Elly and Saji are all diverging with Haneyl’s natures. Some of the older szelkeruby have grown taller and are starting to get little curves. It might be that you just need a little push and you’ll all start aging in... in sudden jumps, like my souls do. Rathan stayed a baby for a long time and then jumped to being a little boy - and then stayed like that for a while before jumping ahead to where he is now. And you take your nature from his, so you’re probably inclined to age the same way, where Haneyl grew more gradually and constantly.”

“R-really?” Oula pauses, and then wraps her arms around Keris in a desperate hug. “You mean that? I w-won’t be stuck like this forever? I’ll be able to be pretty and… and tall and beautiful like you?” She runs her icy hands over Keris’ hair. “And with beautiful hair like you too and… and… and thank you!” She takes a deep breath. “You’re so nice,” she adds, wistfully. “I really promise I’m going to be like you as much as I can!”

Keris quirks a faint smile at Oula calling her “tall”, but pats her reassuringly. “I’ll take a closer look at your essence and your body and how you grow once we’re on the road,” she promises. “We might be able to figure out how to give you that push. Okay? Now go get some sleep. We’ve got a busy few days ahead of us.”

Nodding, Oula looks around. “I think I saw some ponds outside,” she observes. “I’ll go see if any of them are comfortable to sleep in. I don’t like sleeping on dry land. It makes my skin itchy when I wake up.” She hugs Keris again, and gives her a kiss on the cheek. “See you in the morning, Aunty Keris!”

“Good plan,” Keris agrees. “Actually, tell you what. I’ll help you find a nice one.” She winks. “I sleep better in water too - I just don’t get itchy from being dry, so sometimes the beds are worth it. Come on, let’s find you a sleeping spot.”

One of the central courtyards in the hotel has a pond that Oula considers to be sufficiently ‘pretty’ to sleep in. She lowers herself into the steaming water that’s heated to keep the fish alive, and swims down, fussily finding a comfortable space on plant-covered rocks.

With a sigh, Keris leaves her to it. Oula is sweet, and she can’t exactly deny that the way she considers Keris to be the most beautiful woman in the world and the model of feminine beauty is flattering.

“You know, I don’t think Rathan deserves her,” Calesco contributes nastily.

Keris swats Calesco’s mental presence away. She’s just doing it to be mean. Rather than head straight to bed, Keris goes to check in with Kazem Motahari and report her success.

She slips into his office uninvited, to find him sprawled out behind his desk, a neomah’s head bobbing at groin height. There’s the remnants of a lavish meal cooling on his desk, and the air smells of hash and spices.

He starts momentarily, but relaxes. “Oh, it’s you.”

She does her best not to glare. Honestly! He could at least tell the neomah to stop! It’s gauche and rude and... and just infuriating!

... and her stomach isn’t growling at the thought of what the meal must have tasted like, given how good the leftovers smell. Keris grits her teeth and bares a polite, if somewhat more toothy than usual, smile.

“It’s me,” she confirms. “I just thought I’d pop by to say hello - I had a relaxing walk down by the docks a few hours ago, and found it very pleasant. I don’t know how much time you’ll have between helping with my negotiations and... your duties here, but you should really consider strolling by yourself. It’s a nice area.”

The neomah still hasn’t actually stopped. Keris tries to suppress the urge to kick the desk on top of them.

“Oh, wonderful,” the man says, reaching out to take a glass of spirits. He takes a sip of it. “Have your people deliver the goods and my people will handle it. I suppose we can get started on your other affairs tomorrow, or maybe the day after. It depends on how long it takes for the market price of saffron to spike.” His face has a little tension. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m in the middle of something… oh, unless you want to borrow one of them.” His hand gestures towards some of the other neomah, who pose and flex their muscles for Keris. “Just return them intact and you can take your pick.”

“... I’ll be fine,” says Keris, rather put off by the display. “Good night to you.” She heads out, and firmly closes the door behind her to that den of… of tastelessness! Tasteless with the walls painted with gold leaf and all those gems on display and it’s not even a place he’s probably living in properly, so he might have to leave and he’s not even keeping the neomah private and… and… and…

Oh, when she gets back to the South West, she’ll have something _way_ better than that. Yes she will! She’ll put serious effort into becoming a big woman in the Hui Cha! Richer than him! With tens of servants seeing to her, who aren’t just bound neomah! And nicer art! And everything will be better and just you see!

Darkly, Keris notes to herself that somehow Orange Blossom might have found a servant who gets under her skin even worse than she does. And another thing! She’ll have Dragonblooded working for her, who can do the paperwork and other boring things! Yes, that too!

Muttering to herself, Keris visits the bathhouse and makes sure there’s no trace of smoke on her, then grumps her way back to her rooms after acquiring a post-midnight snack and chews viciously all the way through her food. Only after a lot of sulking does she actually go to bed and falls asleep almost instantly

A silver droplet falls from a great height. Falling, falling, falling. It lands upon a mirror and the mirror bends and ripples, waves of mercury washing away.

Keris emerges from the droplet, standing upon the liquid metal. She looks around, and all she sees is her reflection. Her reflections. Or are they her reflection? They’re different, some only subtly, some in major ways.

That one there, for instance, still has her birth hair, and is a lot more scarred up than Keris is. The scars form a roadmap on her skin under a crown of gleaming brass. Another reflection has a deathly pallor to her skin and stares out of the mirror with hatred beyond reason. A third is identical to her in every detail - but her shadow is as liquid-black as Sasi’s, and the smirk on her lips has a sick sense of malice to it. There are dozens of them. Hundreds. Keris’s head spins as she tries to keep track of them all; their differences and their positions. This one is... and there, she’s... and just ahead, that reflection...

... that reflection isn’t a reflection.

That reflection is a real body, just like her in every detail. Except that it’s liquid silver down to the last strand of hair. And the scar on its jaw. It’s on the wrong side.

It’s also coming closer.

Other Keris steps up to her, posture wary, keeping low. She bares her teeth. “Why do _you_ get to be the real one?” she hisses. “What gave you the right? You’re not any better than me! You have everything I want!”

“I... I...” Keris stutters, then rallies. “What do you know? I _am_ me! You’re just a... a reflection!”

“Is that what you think? That just sounds like the entitled whining of someone who got _everything_ handed to them!” snarls Other Keris. “Oh, I’ve had it so hard! Oh, I had to do things I didn’t want to do to survive! Well, I had to do them too and I didn’t get to be the real one! You make me sick!”

Keris bares her teeth. “If you’re not real, it’s ‘cause you’re not _good enough_ ,” she taunts, suddenly angry at how this wrong-way-round _copy_ seems to know what’s going on when she - the _real one_ \- doesn’t. If anyone deserves to know what’s happening, it’s her, not this Other. This is _her_ dream. Probably. “Suck it up and get over it, or get lost!”

With a mad howl, the silver Keris leaps at the real one, pulling out a spear from her hair and lunging for her. Every move is just the same as something she could do.  
  
Keris brings out her own spear - in an identical gesture - and lunges.

They both strike. A thin line cuts across Keris’ cheek.

The head of Other Keris falls off. It lands on the mercury, and sinks away into nothingness. Silver blood sprays into the air, falling like rain. It soaks Keris’ hair and her skin, covering her in silver.

And all around her, other reflections are clawing at their mirrored surfaces, pushing up against them, trying to get out. Hungry for what Keris is. What she embodies.  
  
There is a whole nightmare infinity of infinities, and each one has a Keris who wants to be the real one. Each one whispers a way she hasn’t lived up, a way she’s failed, a way she’s too poor, too hungry, too cowardly, too weak.

She attacks the first few to tear their way free. She kills them like she killed the first. But there are so many, and they’re all so hungry, and no matter how far or how fast she runs on this infinite sea of mercury they’re always there. Always keeping up with her effortlessly; swimming under the surface, breaking through to grab at her legs, claw at her face, pull her under.

Coated in silver as she is, she’s not sure of the differences between herself and them anymore. She’s just one silver Keris among many; different and yet similar to all the others. She’s not...

... she’s not sure which of them is real.

Screaming as she plunges through the quicksilver surface, she drowns; reflected endlessly on every side.

And then she’s awake, scything violently sideways in bed and curling up in a wrenching move that tears not just the sheets and mattress but the very _frame_ in two. Her screams echo off the walls for half a minute or more before she realises the sound is coming from her; her heart pounding too loudly in her ears for her to hear anything else.

Keris stretches, rubbing the unwanted sleep from her eyes. That… that had been a bad night’s sleep. Not good at all. What the fuck had that been about?

She shambles out, looking for the toilets. Only… the doors don’t lead where they’re meant to.

She’s back in An Teng. In Sasi’s house - not her current one, the one she was first in when Keris lived with her. She knows the place very well. And her bedroom seems to be in the servants’ quarters. She steps out, heading upstairs to the master bedroom, and eases it open.  
  
There’s someone else in there with Sasi. Another woman. Snuggled up there, in her arms. Sasi’s paleness sets a strong contrast with that of Orange Blossom. They’re locked in a mutual embrace, arms tight, scratches on each other’s backs, writhing together in mutual passion.

They pay no attention to Keris. They don’t even stop what they’re doing.

Face turning pale, Keris staggers back a step - then recovers herself and lunges forward, face twisting in hate. _She_ should be there! That’s _her_ place! So furious is she that she’s not even sure which of them she’s talking about - she just wants them _apart_ , and focused on _her_. The teeth come out, and the knives, and there are two voices in Keris’ head, screaming over each other and she’s not sure which one is louder. Maybe it’s the _i won’t let you take her away from me_. Maybe it’s the _if i can’t have her no one can_.

Either way, by the end of it Keris is the only thing alive in the room; covered in blood, her heart pounding, a feeling of elated satisfaction in her chest.

Then her eyes open again. She doesn’t scream. She doesn’t shout. But her vision is blurred with tears and she’s not entirely sure at first whether they’re sorrow or happiness.

She twitches this time, a high whine announcing her awakening that shifts into gasps as the horror overcomes the triumph. She... she just... and it was a dream, but she... and _Sasi_... and she was... she felt...

((1wp lost from nightmares, 1 Limit gained))

Her fists clench as her vision blurs again; her head swimming. There’s a stab of pain from her hands - it feels like she just made a fist around Ascending Air, which she must have pulled out in her sleep - but she ignores it. Curling into a ball and rocking backward and forward while trying not to vomit is all she’s up to.

The nausea passes, eventually. The horror stays, but she can at least push it back and try to forget... forget the way it had felt so _good_ to take away Sasi’s poise and grace and control with knives and teeth and fists. Keris shudders convulsively at the thought and forces it back down. No. No. She’s not thinking about that. She’ll get rid of the sheets - she’s not leaving samples of her blood for an obvious sorcerer to play with - and then she’ll... she’ll go spend time with Rathan and Oula. Until she can gather herself enough to forget.

She looks down at the sheets.

The blood is streaked with silver.

Keris blinks. Sniffs it. Listens to it. It’s her blood, yes - but there’s something else in it. Something cloying and toxic and… and not her blood. Even if it is her.

Wait. Wait. Ha ha ha. Yes, of course! She hasn’t woken up! That’s why it makes sense! It makes sense that there’s silver or something in her blood because it’s all a dream! It’s not even morning! It’s sunset again outside!

But she doesn’t wake up, and the scabs on her body are brassy and not healing and… and… and…

“Child.” Dulmea’s voice comes in clearly. “I don’t believe you are asleep.”

On the other hand, that might just be what a dream Dulmea would say!

Wary of any sudden attacks by silver copies of herself or appearances of loved ones, Keris eases open the door and goes exploring. Her knives hang ready as a glimmer of scarlet violence around her fingertips; ready to spring from potential to presence at a split-second’s notice. The time is wrong, and it’s sunset all over again, so she’ll... yes, she’ll just go back to where she was at sunset and there’ll probably be a copy of herself there and she can just stay out of its sight until it gets back to the hotel and goes to sleep and then she’ll wake up properly.

Yeah. That makes sense.

Keris creeps out of the hotel, and heads back to where she was. But her sleep-addled brain finally realises that it probably isn’t the same day.

For one, there’s a pillar of smoke rising from the docks that wasn’t there before. That was something she did last night. Which probably means she isn’t dreaming of yesterday.

Did she just sleep for eighteen or more hours? Why didn’t Rathan or Kuha or Oula wake her?!

... wait, she thinks.

Rathan. Kuha. Oula.

Spinning around, Keris races back to the Sceptred Leaf in a panic. If something’s happened to them... nothing can have happened to them. Nothing is _allowed_ to have happened to them while she’s been asleep, she won’t _let_ it have, it just _can’t_.

Thank goodness, she finds Rathan downstairs eating. He looks pale and wan and his hair is a mess and he probably is the least elegant she’s ever seen him.  
  
“Mama,” he says miserably. He takes off his dark glasses, showing the bags under his eyes and the way his eyes are red and puffy. He looks like he’s been crying. “Morning-evening.”

“Rathan,” Keris breathes, sweeping over to engulf him in a hug. She wraps him up in her arms, winds her hair around him, plants a relieved kiss on his forehead and then stays there for the next several minutes. It’s only when her stomach starts registering an interest in some food of her own that she distangles herself and sends a servant to get her something to eat.

“I’m sorry I’m up so late,” she says hoarsely. “I slept long. And badly. Nightmares.” She frowns with concern and traces under his eye with a hair-tendril. “You’ve been crying. What about?”

“Bad dreams,” Rathan says miserably. “Hurty dreams. Everything hurt. It was like I was being hit with sharp things and being bitten by bugs and there were all these things that other people had that I didn’t and they were just hurting me while I couldn’t have them.

He swallows a mouth full of pomegranate juice. “And then there was a bit where I’d nearly got free and then there was this heat and hunger and it burned me, mama. And it was like I was fighting over something but then something else ate what I wanted before I could have it and left me alone in the dark all burned. It was scary. And mean.”

Keris lets him lean into her, and presses back against his shoulder to meet him halfway. They go through the rest of breakfast in a commiserating quiet peppered with occasional hugs and kisses to make it feel better.

“Have you seen Kuha or Oula?” she asks as they clean off the last of their plates. “Oula went out to sleep in one of the ponds, but I’d expect her to be awake by now.”

Rathan shakes his head. “I thought she was with you. Although,” he crosses his arms and tries to glare pitifully at Keris, “I saw Kuha. She was doing basically _everything_ you talked to me about not doing. She was having drinks with men and women and when I asked her if she’d seen you she said she had the day off so was ‘relaxing’. Haven’t _you_ given her a super awful talk like yesterday!?”

That sounds expensive. Keris winces. She might need to speak to Kuha about money. “I _have_ had a talk like that with her, actually,” she says. “While I was fixing her body from how she’d poisoned it to help her tribe. And it was almost as awkward as it was giving the talk to you, and now she’s fully grown and I try to ignore what she chooses to do with her time if it involves... that sort of thing.” She sighs. “Though I’m going to have to step in and have a talk with her about what she does with her time if she’s paying for it with my money. So you can content yourself with knowing she’s due a scolding.”

She drums her fingers on the table. “Oula hasn’t been with me since last night, though. Hmm. Well, I know where she went to sleep. Let’s go find her. Unless you want to go and have a proper rest after your bad night, in which case I’ll go find her and then probably do the same myself.”

Rathan nods miserably. “Yes, I’ll finish eating and go back to bed. I feel even more tired than the time that Eko threatened with invading me if I didn’t take place in her stupid Great Coffee Race. I don’t even know why grandmother let her have coffee.”

Keris will probably need to talk to Dulmea about that, although it’s distinctly possible that Dulmea has realised her mistake and vowed to never let Eko have that drink again.

The sun has set outside, and Keris heads down to the warm heated gardens. She pokes her head around, looking for any sign of Oula, but she’s not there. She can’t be still asleep, can she?

She meanders down to the pond she’d left the little kerub in, wondering if Oula might have gone out and come back for another nap, or left a note or... something. It’s really not like her to just up and vanish. She’s usually been pretty punctual about spear lessons and practice drills.

There appears to be a giant silvery-red pearl down in the pond.

Huh.

Keris blinks owlishly at it and tentatively slips into the water, reaching down to poke it.

Yup. It’s a pearl alright. Her eyes flash green as she takes it in. It’s huge - it might even be big enough for her to curl up inside if she wasn’t pregnant. If it were a natural pearl, it would be priceless.

... but it’s not a natural pearl. At all. After calling on Rathan’s powers so no one will suspect her, she wades into the warm water with relief. It really does feel nice, and it takes the weight off her spine.

Sinking down, she starts by running her hands over the pearl. Firstly, and perhaps most interestingly, it tastes of the Sea. It is probably connected to Oula or Rathan in some way. But it’s not a pearl in the sense that a normal pearl is. It’s more like an enamel coating. Keris is more than a bit disappointed to find that, because a pearl this size would be worth an absolute fortune. What’s on the inside is strange.   
  
It’s probably organic. Yes, it’s vaguely meaty. But it’s also a bit metallic, and Keris can distinctly hear the chime of mercury.

… if anything, she thinks it’s an egg.

But those are all the conclusions she can come up with, because the pearl-egg starts to crack.

Glancing around warily to make sure there’s nobody watching, Keris scoops her hair under the thing and hefts it up - argh, heavy lifting - and out of the pond, onto dry land. She’s not sure what’s going to come out of the thing, but the contents include a substantial amount of mercury, and that’s not something she particularly wants getting into the groundwater around here. She’d never hear the end of it from Orange Blossom.

There’s a sliding-panel pavilion nearby; used during the summer to give shade while still being outside. Keris hauls the pearl-egg up and dashes into it, kicking the panels shut behind her. Depositing it gently in the middle of the floor, she backs off and readies her knives for whatever’s emerging.

A hand breaks through the shell. A brown hand with red nails that just look like the pearl egg. It’s then followed by a second one. Fortunately, the hands stop there, but they do flail around a fair among, breaking the shell and releasing a wash of blood, mercury and seawater that soaks Keris’ feet.

Wetly, a female form that’s soaked in the strange contents of the egg flops its way free, groaning and bubbling. She hacks up a lung-full of a mix of visceral gloop and liquid metal.

This... probably isn’t a threat, Keris has to admit. It’s more pathetic and pitiful than dangerous or deadly. In fact...

Keris hazards a wild guess. “ _Oula?_ ”

“Urgh. Aunty Keris?” It might be her. The voice is less piping, but it sounds like… well, like an adult or at least teenage version of her. Reaching up, the figure scrubs at her eyes. “What happened? Why are you so small?”

That’s slightly offensive, Keris feels. They’re pretty much exactly the same height now.

“Well... don’t look now, but remember that push I was talking about? I think we found it.” Keris walks a brief circuit around this new Oula, then reaches down to help her up. She can’t even begin to put what this might mean into a sensible summary. When she’d said that keruby might grow up, she wasn’t expecting a transition into what... what looks like a whole new breed of demon.

Her eyes flash green. A slightly more powerful breed, too, if she’s judging the relative strength of Oula’s essence before and now correctly.

((Enlightenment 3, Rathanite essence))

There are towels in a storage closet in the room Keris has broken into, and she breaks the lock and starts helping to dry Oula of the residue of her strange rebirth. As she does it, her appearance and her colouration starts to come out properly.

The new Oula looks far more human. Her skin is the warm, creamy brown of a seashell and has rippling bands of paler cream that radiate out from her spine. Her skin is still a little harder than a human’s, but it feels like skin, not shell. Her hair is a pale pink, streaked with silver and no matter how Keris tries to dry it it leaves more mercury residue on the towels. Maybe it’s just like how the child form always had a water-cape. Her nails are red pearl; her lips are coral red and slightly rough to the touch; she’s far more flexible now than she was, which she shows when she casually pats all the way up and down her back, trying to find what happened to her cape. Her eyes are very nearly human, except the irises are bright red and the pupils are silver. They’re like empty mirrors. 

Then there are the horns. She’s not quite human, no. She has two thin and graceful horns spiralling up from her forehead, sweeping back, like a gazelle’s or an antelope’s. They seem to be ice over liquid metal, which shifts whenever she turns her head. Whatever happened to her, mercury seems to be core to her new themes.

And it looks like she got her wish. Young wave-keruby are basically androgynous, with even Keris finding it hard to tell them apart from a distance, but Oula is very clearly a woman now. She’s even built like Keris; fairly small breasted, but with wider hips, and toned muscles as befits someone who Keris spars with. She’s going to need a whole new set of clothes, Keris realises, because she’s going to be distracting… well, everyone who sees her, starting with Rathan and Kuha.  
  
“So, what happened?” Keris asks as she cleans her up.

Oula sighs happily. “I was thinking about what you said. About how it was going to happen and it was just a matter of time and… and I just relaxed. When I fell asleep, I was _certain_ , and I saw Rathan. Not just as he is out here. I saw him properly, his moon and everything, and I remembered all the time we’d spent together and I was so happy.” She pauses. “And then I saw all those _people_ from the bar and I hated them and I thought about what you said and I tore off my cape because I didn’t need it anymore and I started bleeding, I think, except it wasn’t blood and,” she sways, one hand going to her chest. “My heart started beating very fast then. It still is. It kind of hurts. But I think my cape was holding me back, maybe, and once I tore it away I started changing properly and I realised I had a chance to be whatever I wanted to really, really be and I remembered my promise to you.” She swallows. “Are you pleased? Am I beautiful like you are, now?”

Keris grins. “You’ve definitely grown up. You’re going to turn heads - starting with Rathan’s.” A calculating look crosses her face. “Actually, tell you what. He and I both had nightmares last night, and I need some relaxing downtime. So why don’t I get you some clothes to cover up the...” she gestures, “... everything, and then we can do some sparring to see where you are, and then we can dress you up really nicely and let you have a look at a mirror. Your first time seeing yourself in a new body should be a good one, right?” She gives Dulmea a gentle mental nudge and smiles fondly. “I remember the first time I saw mine, after Dulmea remade me.”

“You also did something weird with an egg and coming out different?” Oula asks, wide eyed, and Keris nods. Oula shudders with pleasure.

((... hahaha. Yes, that's almost exactly what she did.))

Her legs are still weak and she’s clumsy, so she can’t do much more than sit as Keris tries her best to clear up what happened here. There’s a lot of poisonous mercury pooling around and soaking into the floor. By the time Keris has finished, though, Oula has moved through to doing warm-up stretches and seems to be able to at least walk. Keris re-weaves some of the few remaining clean towels into a simple dress for her, and they head out.

There’s a practice court there, and Keris tosses Oula an adult-sized wooden quarterstaff. “Why don’t you try?” she asks.

By the end of it, Keris has a few conclusions. Despite the growth, Oula isn’t any stronger or faster - and she’s suspecting that this new demonic breed isn’t as violence-focussed as the little justice-seeking warrior she was. On the other hand, she has more reach and her inhuman flexibility certainly comes in handy. But still, Oula doesn’t seem to have lost her self-taught skills at command, but she’s not going to be a warrior in the same way.

And she seems to have realised it too. She shivers, frowning, as she tries to put her thoughts in order and Keris takes her out shopping. “Why doesn’t justice feel as important?” she wonders. 

The nice thing about her new appearance, Keris has already decided, is that if she covers her horns and wears a veil to obscure her eyes, is that Oula can basically pass as human, or at least god-blooded. It means they can go out in public together. It’s almost like having one of her daughters around.

Keris selects some of the better clothes they come across - more the fabrics than the cuts, since she intends to reweave them into something tailored anyway. It’s an effort keeping Oula away from any shiny surfaces, but she just about manages that as well, and hustles her back to the Sceptred Leaf to take a long bath in Keris’s quarters - the mirrors strategically covered by cloth to stop her peeking. While she’s busy with that, Keris puts some effort into an outfit worthy of a shahbanu, and hijacks her as soon as she comes out to help her get it on and take care of makeup.

“Okay,” she says, holding a mirror at an angle Oula can’t see herself in. “Are you ready? You feel prepared?”

“Uh huh!” Oula nods eagerly. Keris smiles.

“Well then, Duchess Oula. Meet... yourself.”

She spins the mirror.

Oula’s eyes widen. Her mirror pupils expand to literally cover her whole eye. Her hands go to her mouth. And then she starts to cry.  
  
“Oh, no, what’s the matter sweetie?” Keris asks.  
  
“N-nothing,” Oula sobs. “I… I… I never thought I’d… I’m as beautiful as the princesses and… and I look so much like you and that’s just what I _wanted_ and you did all this for me and… and…” she degenerates into incoherent sobbing, then slumps down into a cross-legged position on the ground, swaying slightly.

Keris is a little worried, in fact. Oula’s heartbeat has been racing ever since she came out of the egg, and now it’s a painfully fast beat that’s almost a constant whir. It doesn’t sound healthy, not at all. It’s barely less awful sounding than the problem with Zany’s heart.

“Oula...” she says, worried. “Here, let me... look, something’s wrong with your heart. Take your shirt off for a moment.”

Still sobbing, Oula complies, and Keris’s eyes narrow. There’s a wavy vertical striation down the centre of her chest where the bands of colour stretching out from her spine come together. Keris had thought it was just the endpoint of those stripes, but looking closer... there’s a groove there. Almost like the mouth of a clam when it’s held tight shut. A very cautious hair tendril reports that the flesh at the base of the groove is softer than her skin, and feverishly hot.

“Oula, give me your hand. Here... feel, just here? There’s a sort of groove on your chest, I think that’s where the problem-”

Keris stops talking, and gapes.

Oula’s touch has made her chest swing open, almost like someone had unhinged a box, and she’s lying there with her ribcage - of ice, Keris notes - spread like wings. There’s a second layer of skin here, covering everything except for her heart. This organ is made of mercury, ice and pearl, and it’s beating so fast that it’s flickering. It seems to be hurting her, because she’s bleeding silvery blood around it where it’s rubbed the protective layer of skin raw. A faint cloud of steam drifts out of the opened chest.

“What’s that?” Oula asks, trying to peek at the mirror. “What just happened?”

“You...” says Keris dumbly. “Um. The...”

Words fail her. She gently takes Oula’s hand and guides it down to feel for herself. As soon as her fingers brush her heart, though, Oula stiffens. Then, with a sigh, she dreamily curls her fingers around it before Keris can stop her and lifts it out of her chest.

Her ribcage folds closed again, muscle and ligaments pulling the clam-like lips together so tightly that only the groove is left. The groove, and the placidly-beating heart left lying in Oula’s hands. It’s calmed right down, Keris notes with faint hysteria. Wow. If only it were that easy for her to come down from of a stress-breakdown.

It might help her with the one she’s about to suffer, for a start.

“You can take it, if you want,” Oula says dreamily. Her heart beats in her hands. “I trust you. You can keep it safe. I think you’ll care for me, so you can have it.”

She modestly adjusts her clothing with her free hand. “I can’t just carry it around with me. It’ll get sick if I do that. I know it. I don’t know how I know it, but I do. It needs to be somewhere safe and my feelings get too trapped if they’re locked in me.”

Keris’s mouth works, but no words come out. Her hand twitches forward slightly, but doesn’t move to take the heart. Her hair spasms briefly, then falls still in sheer, uncomprehending shock.

And it’s that tableau; Keris kneeling stunned beside a prone Oula, whose heart is held up in her hands like a gift, that Rathan walks in on.


	9. Chapter 9

“Oh, mama, you’re back? Did you find...” Rathan begins, before trailing off. Before him kneels his mother, and on the ground next to her is a pretty girl with horns, and a silk shirt that’s only being held closed by friction. “Oh, hello.” He scoops some of his flowing river of red hair back.   
  
Keris is still gaping, but manages a faint nod. “Oula,” she manages. “Yes.” Numbly, one of her hands makes it halfway up to gesture at the girl before falling back into her lap.  
  
Oula flows bonelessly from being prone to sitting, hair pooling on the floor, her legs curled up like some pet kat of the Sea. “My prince,” she says brightly, the silk of her shirt sliding across her skin with every motion. “Do you like the new me? I do, and I hope you will.”

Rathan swallows. Keris is quite impressed. She’s not sure where Oula got this from, but she appears to have a natural talent for this sort of thing. In fact, she recognises some of her own knowledge in how Oula is acting - something she never taught her. Demony-magicy-whatevers must be going on.

((... lol. Is Rathan _speechless?_ And on the back foot? Oh, I’m loving this.))  
((... come to think of it, Oula’s heart is in her hands. So her shirt is being held together by... friction, basically. And what modest adjustments she made just before Rathan walked in))  
((dammit Keris, I see Cerulean Paramour Style has bled through))

The numb shock wears off enough for Keris to make words happen properly. “She... ah, she was reborn from a pearl egg that formed around her last night. She’s not a kerub anymore; she’s matured.” She eyes the heart. On the one hand, she trusts Oula when she says somebody else needs to take it, and the thought of that being Rathan... well, she gave him that talk last night for a reason. On the other hand, the idea of taking it _herself_ \- of that dreamy-eyed devotion being pointed at her by her student and sort-of-daughter-figure - sends screaming waves of discomfort through the exact same parts of her that felt awkward during said talk.

... and on the offhand hair-tendril, she can’t help but admit that there’s a certain vindictive glee in seeing her son this completely thrown. He’s actually _blushing_ , and Keris honestly wouldn’t be surprised to hear him stutter. Whatever usual lazy grace and poise he has seems to have deserted him in the face of Oula’s new form.

((Oh, Keris. On the one hand, you are not comfortable when the topic of sex encounters that of your kids. On the other hand, you are exactly the kind of mother who cackles with glee when her kid is blushing and stuttering around a clearly obvious crush and teases them to death about it.))  
((... which is a bit hypocritical, because they come by the blushing and stammering honestly if your early days with Sasi are any indication.))

“I... I... you can do that?” Rathan asks, mouth somewhat slack.

“Apparently so!” Oula says, nodding. She rises to her feet in one smooth motion, sliding up to Rathan gracefully. Her shirt gives up any attempt at covering anything.

He actually backs away, and Keris represses a cackle. This is too precious!

“What’s that you’re holding?” he asks.

“This? It’s my heart,” Oula says dreamily. “I want you to have it. You can keep it safe.” She steps even closer. She’s a determined young woman - but then again, she was also a determined wave cherub. “I loved you as a little girl. Now I want you to take my heart as a woman.” Keris winces. She is going, she realises, to have to have that talk with Oula as well. Urgently. But not right now. Oula knows her heart, and Keris is sure she’ll be good for Rathan. And she’s pretty sure Rathan will be good for Oula, too, especially if Keris quietly imparts a few bits of advice she’s learned from her relationships with Orange Blossom and Sasi in turn.

So she stays quiet and avoids spoiling the moment - and also enjoys Rathan’s near-panic. It’s probably for the best that Haneyl isn’t behind her eyes right now, because she would hold this over him _forever_.

“But it’s your heart!” Rathan protests. “It’s meant to be inside your chest!”

“Is it? It hurts me when it’s in there. It needed to come out. Don’t worry, Aunty Keris didn’t use knives to do it. My body opened up and let it out.” Oula takes another step forwards. “And your heart isn’t in your chest. It’s in the skies. I’ve walked upon it. I’ve stared up at it. Last night it filled my mind’s eyes. I’ve decided I want to love you. I’ll love you forever, for as long as you keep it.” Her eyes are fierce; she’s holding her heart almost as a weapon. “I’ll be yours. I remade myself for you. What _more_ do you want me to do to prove I want to love you?”

“She’s not lying,” Keris says softly, not wanting to intrude but also feeling that they both might appreciate confirmation on this point. “She can’t have her heart in her chest. Physically can’t. It almost gave her a heart attack when it was trapped in there - and her body is made to be able to take it out like that.”

((Honestly, she probably needs some Dulmea time because Dulmea is a demon who understands that demons are driven by weird impulses. :p))  
((Yes. Heh. Keris may well summon a Chord once they’re off on their own.))  
((Keris made her souls too human in mindset to really quite grasp that in the same way.))

“Oh. Uh.” Rathan’s eyes dance around the room, always returning to Oula. He’s really off balance by this, and his usual grace and easy mannerisms have abandoned him. He very much doesn’t know what to do, and Keris’ own heart clenches up as she thinks of her time with Rat. “Is... is this fine with you, mama? I mean, you... you talked about not hurting people and... and I... what if I do it wrong? I’ve never done this before!”

Keris purses her lips in thought, and stands. “I know Oula wants this - and has wanted it since before she needed to give her heart away,” she says, moving over to them. “And you two are... are about the age that me and your father were when we started getting closer. Probably little older, honestly.” She smiles - tiny and wistful. “If you like Oula enough to accept her heart and vow to protect it, then I won’t argue with her choice. Though I’ll be having a talk with her, and you’ll both be following a few rules,” she adds with a hint of maternal sternness.

Laying a hand on her son’s shoulder, she squeezes reassuringly. “Don’t be too worried about getting it wrong,” she advises. “The most important thing is to care, and to want the one you love to be happy. As long as you have that, you’re on the right path. And you can always ask me for advice if you’re worried you’ve made a mistake.”

Her hand lingers a moment longer, before she brushes past Rathan and opens the door. “I will be right outside,” she warns. They both know how good her hearing is. “But I’ll give you two a little privacy to sort things out.”

The door clicks shut behind her as she leaves the room and slumps down into an armchair.

She listens to their talk, of course. Oula goes on - at length - about how she already had feelings for him, that he’s the most handsome and wonderful boy in all the world, and that she changed herself out of love. Rathan doesn’t say much, not at first. For once, something big like this has got through his defences.

Then he takes a deep breath, and Keris hears him reach out. He pauses.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I am.”

His hand touches her heart, and Keris hears Oula gasp faintly, lungs sucking in air.

“Did I do it r-”

“Yes! Yes, you did!” Keris hears Oula throwing her arms around his shoulders, and she’s clearly crying. “It’s wonderful. I... I... I thought I loved you before, but... but...” she degenerates into incoherent sobbing.

Keris allows herself a moment to really, _really miss_ Sasi. Gods, if Sasi were here... well, for a start she’d have all kinds of hilariously polite-but-actually-scathing comments to make about Orange Blossom’s tacky overdone taste. And she’d be enjoying herself because of all the luxurious baths and foods and stuff; relaxing in a way she doesn’t often get to. That’ll be another good thing about _her_ place, Keris thinks. Sasi will be able to come there to have the best of everything. And she would just be _here_ to give her smart, sensible, sneaky help to Keris’s quest and...

She sighs. An Infallible Messenger every ten days or so just isn’t enough. She wants to be done here and get back to the Southwest and see her love again. But she can afford a few more minutes here to let another romance blossom.  Keris doesn’t have much time to mope, though. Not because she has to intervene, but because Rathan steps outside. “Mama,” he says, the heart in his hands. It’s beating healthily, and has a rosy flush to it. “Can you make me something like that box you carry the ghost girl around in? Only smaller? I want to keep it safe, and it’s... a bit squishy.”

Hastily wiping a tear away, Keris nods. “I think that’s a good idea,” she agrees. “Maybe with a strap or a belt so you can always carry it with you.” Yes. That’s a nice simple problem she can apply herself to - and one that’ll be quite important, if more keruby are going to mature like Oula. This will probably become a very important accessory in the Sea, so she’ll need to put thought into how to do it right...

A short time later, a bedside table and a couple of velvet pillows have been sacrificed for raw materials as Keris weaves together a watertight cushioned case with a reinforced leather strap. Due to the gaudy nature of practically everything in this place, the box is gem-studded. Due to Keris’s innate standards and far superior artistic skill, it’s rather more tastefully so than the table was.

“Once we’re back in Saata, I’ll standardise a design with Sea-pearl and silver,” she promises, considering it thoughtfully. “But for now, this will do.”

“That’s good, mama,” Rathan says. He sidles in, dropping his voice. “I... I don’t know what to do next,” he says softly. “I... she’s a bit scary. She knows what she wants and wants me to want, and I... I don’t think I do. It’s way too sudden and she’s still Oula and... and she was my friend who was almost as good as being a boy and who didn’t go girly on me and now all she’s doing is going girly on me.”

Keris tilts her head, curious. “Am I girly?” she asks. “Is Sasi? I’m not asking to tell you off; I’m just interested.”

Rathan, to his credit, thinks about that. But then again, maybe he’s just trying to avoid offending her. “You sometimes go girly, but I don’t watch when you’re doing that. Anyway, you usually go off with Haneyl or Calesco when you want to be girly. Sasimana is... she’s girly all the time, but she’s scary in a totally different way. She’s scary because she’s powerful enough to think mean things about me if she wants to, and that’s really scary!” He pauses, putting his thoughts in order. “And she’s always been girly around you, or all cool and scary. She doesn’t start acting like... like my sisters suddenly.”

That makes something go _ping_ in Keris’s head, and after a moment’s thought she has it. “Ahhh,” she sighs. “Of course. Oula’s basically a newborn right now. Spirits like you have drives that humans don’t, and it takes you a while to get the hang of riding on top of them instead of being pulled along in their wake. When Calesco was newborn, she had no control over her criticism; she...” Keris winces, “... I know she’s sharp-tongued now, but those first few hours were really brutal. Dulmea was the one to calm her down - she’s used to dealing with demons who are still thinking more with their drives than their heads.”

She smiles encouragingly. “That means Oula’s sudden girliness is probably because of how her new nature drives her to love. She’ll get a handle on it with time - and I might call out a Dulmea-Chord tonight to help her. Until then... well, I know you _have_ watched me with Sasi sometimes when we’re doing not-girly stuff. We talk about our work - because we support each other - and about what we’re doing for ourselves and each other, and art sometimes, and lately a lot about Aiko.”

Keris considers herself very restrained for not sighing at that last part. “So, why not see if Oula wants to talk about something like that. How you’re restructuring some of your iceberg-towns, maybe, or what she thinks about the things I got from Eshtock - I know you’ve been appreciating them with Zanara. Or maybe even her spear lessons. She’s not as passionate about justice anymore, but she’s still got everything I taught her there.”

Tugging her hand, Rathan tries to pull Keris along.

“What?” he says, when she doesn’t immediately follow. “You can help talk to her and... and you know more about spears and things and... and she’s scary! I... it’d be much easier if you were here.”

Calesco _cannot stop laughing_ in Keris’ head. Eko is also there, giggling manically. Rathan’s sisters are finding this hilarious, and she suspects that, inevitably, the story will make it to Haneyl one way or another.

((dammit Calesco))

Biting her lip to hide her own amusement, Keris follows him and strikes up a conversation by asking for more detail about where Oula has been living in the Sea. It’s not hard to pull Rathan into it and get him engaged and less intimidated, and the topic quickly shifts to Sea architecture in general and Rathan’s fairly lackadaisical approach to the rebuilding efforts on various iceberg-islands.

Thankfully, that seems to grab Oula away from scary girl-ness and very soon she’s all-but lecturing Rathan on how these things are important and how his sisters are just going to make fun of him if he doesn’t have better buildings and how she’s seen Princess Haneyl’s castle and it’s an incoherent mess that can’t even have a single design.

“I... I just have to make things _fit_ ,” she concludes, almost working through her thoughts out loud as she idly runs her hands through her hair until they’re painted with silver. “Like, that table there, in the middle of the room! The edges are wrong! They should be much more curved, and... oh!”

Her attempts to demonstrate how they should be curved has led her to try to smooth them down, and that’s led the wood to be smoothed down, like it was made of wax.

“... well,” Keris says, eyeing her hands. “I think we’ve found one of your talents. Try with the other corner?”

They watch as Oula tentatively reshapes this one as well. Keris hums in satisfaction. “You can make things flow like mercury when you coat your hands in it,” she concludes. “Like sculpting wax or clay - like I can reshape wood and flesh with Haneyl’s roots. I guess that makes sense. Mercury seems to be a central part of you now. You move like liquid, too.” She smiles. “You’ll have to try that on a larger scale when you two go back to the Sea. You might be able to shape those buildings yourself.”

She pauses. “And you’re right,” she adds, with an air of vindictive satisfaction. “The edges _were_ really ugly.”

Keris’ sleep cycle is completely messed up, she admits to herself. Rathan is... well, he’s lazy and he’s all right with heading back to bed despite how much he’s slept, but he’s a bit scared of Oula and quietly asks Keris that Oula sleep in her room for a little bit until he’s got more of a handle on things. And Oula is wide awake too.

So she might as well find something to occupy herself for a few hours until she finds out whether she’s just going to crash or whether she’s really properly awake. She starts work on another expansion of her wardrobe; weaving herself and Oula some new clothes from the ones she bought on their stint around town, and convinces Oula to experiment with how her mercury-moulding works on fabric in the process.

“I’m happy for you,” she tells her student as they work. “That Rathan accepted your heart, and that you’re so happy now. I know I don’t need to make any threats, because you’ll always do what’s best for him. But as...” she hums thoughtfully, “as some advice, you might want to relax a little. He’s very charming, and he can gather a group of admirers around him easily, but he’s never had someone who really loves him like you before. I think he’s not sure what to do about it, and it’s making him nervous.”

Oula looks hurt, her coral lips curling in. “But I love him!” she protests, wrapping her arms around herself and rocking back and forwards. “I love him so much! I... I just want to be around him and hug him and feel his skin against mine and... and I _want_ him.” She runs her hands over her face. “He touched my heart and he held it and I want to touch him and hold him just like that so he’ll feel that good!”

“I know,” Keris sighs, cringing a little and choosing to ignore the end of that sentence. Focus just on the hugging, she decides. That she can talk about without wanting to burrow through the floor. “Believe me, I know. I felt like that around Sasi at first. Still do, sometimes. It’s not your fault; your emotions are all overwhelming and eager and falling over each other, right?”

Oula nods, and she continues. “Right. But... how to put this... you had a long time to think about those feelings even before you transformed like this, and get used to them, and accept them as part of you. He’s only had a few hours. And Rathan isn’t as bad as Sasi about panicking when everything suddenly changes, but he still takes a while to get used to something new. If you slow down, and let him work through it at his own pace? He’ll be a lot more comfortable. I know you don’t mean to, but right now you’re making him feel rushed and confused and uncertain.” She winks. “It’s like how Sasi gets nervous when unexpected things come up, and then my job is to fix it so she can feel safe and in-control.”

((Per + Pres for attempt at mother figure explanation))  
((4+5+2 stunt=11, appealing to commonality of “looking after our waifus/husbandos who don’t deal with sudden change well” and applying it to “doing what’s best for Rathan”. 9 sux, woo!))

“But I love him,” Oula repeats, sniffing and wiping her eyes. She leaves a streak of mercury across her cheek. “It’s... it’s...” she sighs. “You said you feel the same way, Aunty, and you can handle it,” she says sadly. “I can do this. I... I can hold on. For a bit, at least. I can be like you. I can do it.” Keris tugs her in for a commiserating hug, murmuring quiet praise for her courage.

Oula takes a deep breath. “Do you have something else you need done? If I have other things to think about, I can distract myself and give him more time to get sensible and realise how I can make him happy. Is there anyone you need killing or... or any armies you need training or anything, Aunty?”

Keris bites her lip. “Ah... not much killing at the moment - not until we get out of Terema, at least. I’m going to be in negotiations...” She pauses, considering. “Actually. Hmm. Yeah, tell you what. You had a lot of opinions on buildings for the Sea, didn’t you? Well, when I get back to the Southwest I’d like a permanent anchoring point for my ship. Something on the ocean floor where it can dock, that I can build a tunnel down to from some secret place on a nearby island. If you want something to work on; come up with some designs for me. At least three. And you can use that to spend time with Rathan in a way that doesn’t make him nervous, because he’s spent a lot of time looking at the Baisha from behind my eyes. He knows how big it is, what it takes to crew it; all those sorts of details. See if you can use your mercury to make me some models, that way you can learn more about what you can do with it at the same time.”

She pulls a face. “I’ll try - but he better come around quickly,” she mutters mutinously.

Keris eventually crashes about midnight, and winds up with Oula in her bed. The other woman is cooler than a human, and leaves mercury staining the sheets, but it could be worse. She doesn’t seem to need to sleep underwater anymore, at least.

She wakes just before dawn, feeling refreshed - and also babbled at, because Eko cornered her and gestured furiously about the failure of her keruby to evolve when she’s older than Rathan. She’s taking it personally. Wonderful, Keris thinks sarcastically. No doubt Haneyl will be furious as well when she finds out.

In order to distract herself from that impending tantrum, Keris goes to check on the saffron prices. She’s keen to get that transaction made - and also bring the Bloody Lionesses in for a meeting. The sooner she wraps up her business here, the sooner she can get out of the city again and back on the trail of her parents. It’s looking increasingly unlikely that she’ll be able to follow it to its end before her babies come.

((Check on the saffron prices? As in the wholesale trading ones, or talk to Kazem Motahari about them?))  
((Well, both, but Kazem may not be up yet.))  
((Reaction + Bureaucracy, Diff 4 to investigate the wholesale prices.))  
((Dangit. 5+0+2 stunt=7. 1 sux. Keris runs into the issue that she is not a trader and doesn’t really know how or where to ask about prices, because there aren’t convenient digital world market trading-share boards that are updated in real-time.))  
((curse my lack of bureaucracy))

Keris makes the unfortunately discovery that the wholesale prices cannot be found by just asking around the market where you’d buy small amounts of spices to add to meals. On the fortunate side, since she’s there anywhere she has breakfast, and since she wastes two hours on this stupid endeavour the sun is up by the time she’s done. Presumably. Somewhere behind the clouds.

It smells like it’s going to snow down here on the coast.

Pouting sullenly at the wasted time, she makes her way back to the Sceptred Leaf, singing softly to her unborn children in the dim, cloud-filtered light of early morning. Okay, so she’s not good at the... trader... merchanty... stuff. Fine. That’s what Orange Blossom’s super-annoying Dragonblood is for. He’ll be able to tell her how the plan is going, and she can prod him to get in touch with the mercenary company she wants. Possibly with some literal prodding, if he’s got a bunch of muscly neomah in his office again.

Kazem Motahari is in, and apparently somewhat hungover - but actually working. He’s meeting with someone else for now, his handsome young assistant tells Keris, but he’ll be free at the hour. In the meantime, would she like any entertainment or vices? There are many to be had. Keris accepts a bowl of fruits, a footrub and some deliciously scented incense, and settles down to wait. The footrub turns into some more general pampering, and by the turn of the hour Keris has had her nails painted in gold-fringed red, her makeup redone, and been reduced to happy purring by a foot and calf massage. The fruit bowl has been entirely demolished. As the clock tells the turning of the hour, Keris hears someone in armour leave - jingling chainmail, male, a limp - and in mild surprise notes that Kazem was apparently actually working. Or has a thing for veteran soldiers.

She’s shown in to meet Orange Blossom’s hedonistic aide, who’s seated behind his desk eating grapes. For once, the neomah aren’t there and his work surfaces have been cleared of most of the more obvious demonic iconography. Whoever he was meeting with clearly didn’t get to know everything.

“Ah, Lady Keris,” he says with a florid smile. “I sent a message yesterday, but I got no response. Did you not notice my Infallible Messenger?”

Keris thinks back rapidly. Oh, right. That had probably come while she was, uh, unconscious and having Primordial nightmares of fighting silver-coated Other Selves and then murdering loved ones in a jealous rage.

“I slept deeply for most of yesterday,” she says smoothly, deciding to omit the details. “My children are playing havoc with my sleep schedule, and I need lots of rest. You know how it is.”

((She is entirely deliberately poking him with icky girl stuff.))

He smiles. “Not really, no. Now, yes. We were, I believe, going to handle the affairs of your saffron trading and that was it?”

“Today, yes,” Keris agrees. “But there’s also the matter of the mercenary group I want to make an offer to - the Bloody Lionesses. I wish to meet with them as soon as possible - and for your services in the negotiations, as we agreed.”

“Oh yes, so there was. How could I forget?” He shuffles some papers. “So, saffron. What quality is it and what mass did you bring?”

“Fifty kilograms of saffron,” Keris replies promptly, having memorised _that_ tidbit without difficulty. Unfortunately, the most she knows about grades of saffron is that they have something to do with the colour. But that’s what she has other people for. “It’s in a range of grades, but, ah...”

She pauses, retrieving Rounen’s notes on the stuff, and continues as confidently as she can given that she doesn’t really understand what she’s talking about. At least she can get an instinctive sense of how it translates to value - which feels like she mostly has the lower grades of saffron that aren’t worth as much, annoyingly. On the other hand, fifty kilograms of saffron is fifty kilograms of saffron, and there’s been a sudden shortage in the area for mysterious reasons.

((Per + Bureaucracy for negotiations, the fact that Keris hard-knows the value of the saffron essentially serves to minimise her losses so she’s basically rolling in a contested roll to maximise her profit.))  
((Mou~ 4+0+2 stunt+4 Metagaos ExD=10. Aww. 2 sux. : (. The dice fairies. They hate me.))  
((By contrast, he rolled 7 successes.))  
((Poor Keris.))

Keris takes a sizable mark-down on her saffron. She knows it. It gnaws at her. It reminds her of all those times she lost out on fencing loot because Rat wasn’t there. All those times she fucked up and sold something for a fraction of what it was worth and got fucked over by the fences. She still hasn’t learned. She’s got all this power and she’s just too damn stupid to get full value for her stolen goods.

All in all, she gets maybe a third to a half of what it’s worth. And she’d have got less if she hadn’t known how much they were actually worth, which is where the fences used to slip her up. And tell her that gold was just a brass alloy. And... oh, so many other things.

But... but she still takes the deal. Because it’s money now, and that’s what she needs and honestly she knows so little about the saffron market here that she couldn’t even find the prices they were going for here.

Gods and dragons, she wishes she had Haneyl here to help her barter.

“I will expect your aid in the matter of the mercenaries,” she tells him through a clenched jaw. “My ally Rathan will also be attending the meeting - or meetings, if it needs more than one.”

Kazem Motahari sits back, all smiles and florid gestures and smoothness. “Ah yes. And, I feel it best to... warn you, if necessary; how much investigation have you done into the Bloody Lionesses? What drew you to them?”

“They made a good impression,” Keris replies warily. “And I have personal reasons for wanting them, too.” Because they’re Harborite. Because they’re her mother’s people, and thus a connection to her. Because uncle Xasan will probably like them, and even a brief meeting was enough to make Keris think she will too. But she doesn’t say any of that. Kazem doesn’t need or deserve to know her secrets.

He settles his hands on his desk. “They have a reputation. They’re more than a little infamous - both for treachery here in Taira and for their crimes back in Harbourhead. May I be frank? By their reputation, they’re untrustworthy criminals who’ve turned on previous employeers, are made up of the worst scum of Harbourhead, and have ties to raiding bands and the Nexan Guild.”

Keris considers his words, tilting an ear to the inflections of his voice. “What sort of crimes?” she asks, letting a note of concern seep through. Hmm. By all indication, he’s telling the truth - although Keris does note that he’s specifically talking about their reputation. He doesn’t seem to have had any real dealings with them himself.

“They’ve got several banished or fled former Bridges of Ahlat among them. Their leader’s one,” he says. “To survive breaking the rules of those women mean you’re dangerous, but that goes both ways. And the tales are that they deliberately recruit from exiles, outcasts, the remnants of clans that come out worse in clan wars, girls who don’t qualify for the Brides, and other such things.”

“... I see,” Keris says, caution vanishing into mild irritation. She certainly has no issue with _that_. Those barely seem like crimes, in her opinion. “Well, then the region won’t be sorry to see them leave with me, will it? I have no fear of them turning on me, and this changes nothing about my plans. How soon can you arrange a meeting?”

“I will look into it. Perhaps the day after next,” he says. “I believe they’ve got a camp set up in the Owls District, although I’ll need to check. May I ask as to your intentions with them, and whether you wish to bring them into the service of our masters?”

Keris considers for a moment. “I want to take them back to the Southwest when I go. A group that isn’t native to the region, loyal to me and without existing ties or anyone who recognises them, will be useful to my plans there. And yes, I’ll be bringing them into infernalism - I have a patron in mind already; one of my allies.”

That’s not entirely true, but it’s a good idea. She’ll have to think of who she might get them worshipping. One of her own souls is the obvious choice, but Lilunu deserves some cults of her own. As, Keris realises with a smirk, does Asarin. The Bloody Lionesses might fit her rather well.

“Mmm mmm. Well, if you think you can handle them... well, Lady Blossom certainly has tricks for keeping the recalcitrant in line. It might be an idea to get started on them sooner rather than later - by their reputation, mere payment might not be enough.” He shuffles his papers then lights his hash pipe. “Will that be all?”

“That will be all,” Keris confirms, and rises to leave. And possibly go punch something. Grr.

“Have your people deliver the saffron to my warehouses,” he reminds her. “Payment on delivery when the assayers verify its quality, naturally.”

Keris barely spares him a nod as she walks out.

After getting clear of his office and having a quiet, furious rant, she takes a little while to sit and stroke her stomach and calm down before going to find the camp her caravan has set up in. She could use some Hanilyia-time to cool her head, and now that she’s closed the saffron deal she can confirm to the Baishans that they’ll all be getting some money to help set them up in new lives.

Not as much money as she’d have liked, but... well, it is what it is.

Fuck, she misses Sasi.

The Baishans are on the fringes of Terema, their caravans taken from the Vakotans parked in place. The caravans form a loose ring, almost like a wall, and inside there are tents and screaming children and loose chickens and other things they picked up along the way.

Keris’ relatives have a caravan to themselves, because everyone knows they matter - and everyone knows that the scary lady is their relative. Zany is outside, doing washing in a tub of cold water when she sees Keris, waving her over. Keris walks right up to her and drops her head onto Zany’s shoulder, groaning. “Is it bad form to punch your merchant-partner?” she asks through gritted teeth. “Because I want to. I really, _really_ want to. Urgh.”

“Well, I mean, you could probably do that,” Zany says. “You can make boats from plants. You could probably punch him fine.”

“I could,” Keris agrees dreamily, letting herself have the fantasy for a moment. “I could punch him right in his stupid... but no, I need him. Even if he is... rrrgh. Okay, I should explain this from the start, and to Xasan and Ali as well. Are they inside?” After a little legwork, Keris rounds them up and shuts the door behind them.

“What’s going on?” Xasan asks.

Keris claps her hands. “Right,” she says. “So, I sold the saffron. For... less than I wanted, because I had to do it through someone...” she pauses, cycling through ‘trustworthy’, ‘allied’ and ‘not a complete prick’ and discarding each one in turn. “... someone I knew I could deal with,” she settles on, fists clenching. “But I got the deal, so we have funds now - or will, once I have the saffron delivered to his warehouses. Which means I can’t punch him repeatedly in the face, much as I’d like to. Once we have the money, I’m planning to split it up among the Baishans so they have something to help them start new lives - I reckon even split a few hundred ways, it’ll be enough to cover their first few weeks or months as they settle down. Or start travelling elsewhere, if they feel like it.”

Ali sighs. “I don’t know what people are going to do,” he says, his worry clear on his face. “Some people are regretting leaving home. Taymid - the priest - he’s trying to make sure everyone stays together. And there’s already been...” he pauses, “... drama with a few young people running off with the mercenaries. Either for love or... well, because they want to be people with weapons.”

“Huh.” Keris frowns. “Well, if you spread the word about the money, that should at least serve to keep people together until I can parcel it out. And ease some of the worries about leaving home. It’s a fair amount.”

She leans forward. “But that leads us onto you four. I vowed to take you to the Southwest if you wanted to go. I’ve found a fairly good way to get you there that’s slow, but safe.”

“Safe is good,” Ali agrees.

“How slow is slow?” counters Zany.

Xasan frowns. “I’m not leaving,” he says. “Not until I have my revenge.”

“I know,” Keris directs at Xasan. “I guessed you’d be staying with me. But I passed through Terema on my way to find Baisha, and met a mercenary company that made a good impression on me. I’m planning to make them an offer - buy them out and take them to the Southwest, since it’s getting harder for them to find work in Taira. If they agree to it, my first job will be having them escort Ali, Zany and Hany across to Saata by ship. It’d be a journey of...” she purses her lips. “Probably eight months or so? Maybe more, depending on the route. Which would actually give me time to finish up here with Xasan, get back there by faster means and set things up for your arrival.”

“A journey of months all across the world,” Zany breathes in awe. “I hadn’t even left our district until now.” She pauses. “Is there a reason we can’t go with you, though, if you have a faster way?”

“Yes,” Keris snaps immediately - fast enough that she reaches out to take Zany’s hand in apology and gentle her tone with her next words. “Yes. I’m sorry, but the route I’m thinking of is _dangerous_. I use it frequently because I can ignore or destroy any dangers that hit me while I’m travelling that way, but I’m only willing to take mortals through it when absolutely necessary. And I’m not willing to risk you or Ali or _especially_ Hany to it at all. Believe me; the ship is safer. And probably lets you see Nexus en route, if you’re interested in that.”

“Isn’t it having its own civil war?” Ali asks. “That’s what I heard.”

Keris scowls. “It... already had it. The Council of Entities all killed each other off after... something sparked them into fullblown paranoia, half the city rioted, the Emissary disappeared the Council members who survived... it was chaos. Sasi and I were there when it started. We got out as soon as the riots started, but I hear it’s stabilised with a bunch of Guild merchants who bought out the city and took the Council’s place.” Her expression makes it very clear what she thinks of _that_ development. “But if that’s not a safe route, there are others,” she adds. “That’ll be one of the things I work out in talks with the company.”

Zany squares her jaw. “Well, there’s nothing in Taira for us anymore. I’ve seen enough of this town, and I don’t want Hany growing up anywhere near it. I’m sure you’ll find a way out of here.”

Ali looks ill, but nods.

Keris nods. “Right. Would you two start spreading the word about the funds to the rest of the Baishans? Xasan, I want to go have a quick chat with the mercenary group before we start talks; you might want to come along and see them yourself.” She pauses. “Or I could stay and spend some time with Hany for the morning and calm down a bit more from that tasteless _ass_ ripping me off in the saffron deal, and go visit them closer to lunch. Which might be a better idea.”

Hany is very awake and bouncy. “When are the babies done?” she demands, jabbing Keris in the stomach. “You’re fat and it’s been the longest time!”

((She’s had cousins explained to her and wants them.))

Grinning, Keris puts a thoughtful finger to her lips. “Well... what season is it?”

“It’s Water, silly!”

“Really? Huh. Well, what month is it?”

“The end of Rising! When are the _babies_ coming?”

Keris chuckles. “Well, I reckon they’re due very soon, then. A couple of weeks, maybe as little as one, maybe as many as three. Though you might have gone on an adventure before then, so if that happens you’ll meet them around the end of Earth.” She leans closer. “You want to know a secret? You say it’s been a long time, but I’ve had them in me for nearly a _whole year_ , now. Imagine how long it feels for me!”

Hany considers this. “Liar,” she decides. “No one could be that fat for that long!”

That draws a laugh from Keris. “Most ladies who have babies in them are thin at first,” she explains. “They get fat as the baby grows inside them. It starts out... can you see? It starts out _this_ big!” She holds her fingers a tiny distance apart; smaller than a pea. “And then it grows... and grows... and grows, until it’s _this_ big when it’s born. And I have twins in me, so they’re taking up twice the space.” She jerks slightly as one of them shifts. Whichever one it is seems to be waking up and stretching. “Ah! Here, put your hand here... can you feel?”

“Ooo! I did! I did! It’s moving under your skin!” Hanilyia considers this with all her three years of life and comes to an insightful conclusion. “That’s _weird_.”

“They’re impatient to get out and see the world,” Keris tells her. “They’ve been able to hear things outside me for a while - like you can hear things even when you put your hands over your ears - and they’re so big now that they’re starting to feel cramped. They want to leave the little warm space inside me and find out what’s making all the funny noises.”

Hany puts both hands on Keris’ stomach. “It’s me, babies!” she says loudly. “Hello! Can you hear me? Kick if you can hear me!” They do, and she gasps in delight. “They did! They did hear me!”

“Yes, and they’re kicking _me_ ,” Keris grumbles good-naturedly. “You two, stop kicking your poor mama. Is this any way to treat me after I’ve carried you around for a whole year?”

One of them kicks again, which she supposes she should have expected.

“I talked to Fatima,” Hany says, snuggling up to Keris and resting her head on Keris’ stomach so she ‘can listen to hear if the babies are talking back’. “She found a bug. It was red. There weren’t any red bugs back home. Why are there red bugs here?”

“Different places have different animals and different plants,” Keris tells her. “Soon - I talked to your mama and papa about this - soon, you’re going to be going on a big adventure across the sea to where I live, all the way across Creation. There are lots and lots of different plants and animals down there. Even the weather is different. You’ll have a lot of new things to explore.”

“Okay, but when are we going home?” she asks reasonably. “I don’t like sleeping in the house on wheels. It smells funny. Also, I don’t like the beds. And there’s loud babies nearby. I don’t want your babies to be that loud.”

Keris wraps a comforting hair-tendril around her shoulders and shifts in place to make sure she’s comfortable. “You know how your mama was tired a lot back home? And how your papa had to work a lot, and those mean Vakotans were bullying people and scared you when Kuha took you away to be safe? Well, all that means that home wasn’t a safe place. So you’re going on a trip to where I live, and we’re going to make you a new home there - one that smells nice and has a bed that you like and which is quiet when you want to sleep, and where nobody will threaten you or be mean to your family. Okay?”

Keris is at least persuasive enough to talk her into thinking about other things, and then she takes her niece out to play with one of her balls. Hany is utterly amazed by what Keris can do with her hair, especially when she displays juggling, and Keris spends most of the rest of the morning showing her niece juggling tricks. She’s not coordinated enough to really do them herself, but Hany does enjoy throwing up a ball and catching it.

When Keris hands her back to her parents, they’re very thankful for the break - not least because that let Zany finish the washing without having to pause to keep an eye on her daughter.

Feeling a lot calmer, she and Xasan proceed over to the Owls District in search of the Bloody Lionesses. Keris fills her uncle in on the way.

“The reason I want this group in particular is that they’re Harborite,” she says. “Brides of Ahlat who... from what I can tell had good reasons for leaving, girls who didn’t qualify for them in the first place, remnants from clan wars... they’re basically the ones who got bad deals down there, but survived. Which means they’re good enough _to_ survive, and to make it up here in the middle of this war.” She pauses. “I feel like... they’re a connection back to my mother. And I liked their leader, Nandi. She said she was interested in work - and possibly in leaving the region - when I came through here the first time.”

The Owls District is one of the more ‘settled’ areas of the tent city around Terema - old enough that there are wooden structures up around the tents. The Lionesses have basically built a wooden stockade here, and they either own it or no one wants to kick them off. This can’t be the whole of their forces, but then again from what Keris understands they’re not here most of the time. Maybe this is just their place they hold and where soldiers who are on leave stay if they can’t afford anything else.

It’s certainly like a little village in its own right. Keris can hear children in there and the crying of babies and people cooking and all sorts of things.

“I was using a false name when I came through here the first time,” Keris adds to Xasan as they enter. “Cinnamon. If anyone recognises me; that’s what they’ll call me.” She keeps her ears open, taking in the population and listening for any voices she recognises - or, failing that, who sound important. Nandi would be best. She’s the only one likely to actually remember Keris. But even if she’s not here, a look at the living conditions the Lionesses are accustomed to is useful. Keris can use that information when she’s making her offer.

It’s a closed off compound, and Keris is stopped at the gate by a pair of women carrying bayonetted firewands. They’re tall enough that Keris doesn’t even reach shoulder height, and their clothing is a bastardised mix of things from Harbourhead - largely jewellery and bracelets and some cloth wraps - with the substantially warmer clothes that people here in Taira wear in the winter.

“State your business,” one of them demands, her frown crinkling up the burn mark on her face.

The name takes a second to come back to her. “If your general is here - Nandi Zwiswayo - I’d like to speak to her. We met before, a month or two ago. If she’s here, tell her it’s Lady Cinnamon, about the matter we spoke of then.”

They send a runner. The general is in. Keris and Xasan are admitted.

The camp here is a mix of tents and wooden structures. Nothing here seems built to last. Even the more permanent buildings are green wood and there’s signs in the ground that other buildings have been torn down and replaced. This isn’t a home base. This is just a place where people stay.

Still, people have made a home here. There’s a scattering of children and babies - mostly looked after by teenagers and invalids - and there’s a bar set up among tents, selling overpriced drinks and food that’s done in a different style to the Tairan stuff.

Xasan has his own opinions of this place. “Sloppy,” he mutters to Keris. “This place is a mess, it’s not set up to be defended, and they’re keeping the camp in poor order. I’d have ordered anyone under my command whipped for being this slovenly.”

“I think this is where they come back to between campaigns,” Keris whispers back. “And this isn’t their full strength, so a lot of them are probably out on contracts. These are just the ones between jobs or off work.”

“You’re not a soldier,” Xasan says stiffly. “You wouldn’t understand.” He pauses, and looks wry. “Maryam wasn’t the most organised either,” he admits. “She was flogged a few times for her discipline failures.” Keris tries not to smile as they’re led to meet the general. It’s not really something to be proud about; that she resembles her mother in this aspect - but she still feels a warm little glow.

General Nandi Zwiswayo is in one of the wooden buildings, but it’s not a house. She doesn’t live here. It’s just a place for meetings and talking and paperwork and all the things that go into running a mercenary company.

“Ha!” she says, on seeing Keris. “You, the courtesan. Not in your work clothes this time?” She turns to Xasan, her remaining right eye taking him in. “And one of the Shah’s men gone to seed, if I don’t read this wrong. Too fat to still be fighting, too Tairan-dressed to be from the homeland.”

There’s two other women with her - one, younger and wiry, greying at the temples though she’s only in her early thirties. She doesn’t look like a soldier - she looks like a scribe. Her dark eyes judge Keris and Xasan, as if she’s evaluating them for their worth.

The other is covered up extensively, wearing a Tairan-style face veil and checked shawls covered in ornaments. Keris recognises some of the things pinned on as defenses against ghosts, demons and gods. She’s a priestess or an occultist or even a demonologist - either way, the fact she’s here with the leader and the scribe means they were either talking already or she’s a big woman in the mercenary group.

Keris’s ears burn a little, and she hopes that Xasan doesn’t take that courtesan comment the wrong way. It was just a cover! One that she almost regrets using, now that her uncle is being told about it.

Clearing her throat, she smiles awkwardly. “General Nandi. It’s good to see you again.” She cocks her head. “Last time we met, we talked about work and the idea of moving to fresh fields. Would you still listen to an offer like that if one came up?”

“So he’s the employer you mentioned?” the scribe asks. “The one the harlot brought to you?”

General Zwiswayo frowns. “I don’t know. What’s your clan?” she asks Xasan.

“Daiwye,” he says stiffly.

“Daiwye?” Her lips curl up, showing her golden dentures. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in years.”

“You should know, _Zwiswayo_ ,” Xasan snaps. back, voice bitter.

Ohhh dear.

Keris hastily steps between them. “Before this gets any further; no he isn’t the employer, I don’t take kindly to being called a harlot, and if anyone in this tent starts a fight then I’m going to stop it.” She lifts a hand to her eyes and groans. “And there’s bad blood between the two of you, because of course there is. _Wonderful_.”

This month has, she reflects, basically just been one gigantic headache. This is a particularly infuriating problem to choose to rear its head now. She’d _really wanted_ the Lionesses.

“It’s hardly bad blood,” Nandi says with insulting casualness. “The Daiwye were a bunch of highland cattle thieves. That’s just a statement of fact.”

“You were corn-fattened valley hounds,” Xasan retorts. “It’s not theft to claim cattle that stray onto your clan’s land!”

Keris seriously considers beating her head against something. Old grudges still flaring up between these two, when Nandi leads a band of mercenary-criminals and Xasan has fattened himself on valley-corn for years. They’ve each become what they saw the other as, and they’re _still_ bickering about it. It’s frustrating enough to make her teeth grind.

But saying that probably won’t improve the situation.

((...))  
((... rolling Temperance.))  
((... 3 successes, and I’m actually a little disappointed about that.)) 

With a masterful effort of will, she suppresses the urge to yell at them both and maybe bang their heads together, and instead quietly stamps on Xasan’s foot. “Would you _listen_ to an offer, if one was made?” she repeats. “Xasan isn’t the employer; he’s just tagging along with me. And the offer would be handsome, if you chose to hear it.”

((Wow, you keep on rolling well for Temperance.))  
((Well, she did just have a relaxing morning with Hany.))  
((If not, she’d probably have botched. : P))

“I am Nadifa Samatar,” says the scribe, steepling her fingers. “If you are not a harlot, then I apologise. I am the quartermaster here, and I can say,” she shoots a glance at the general for approval, “we have space to accept new hirings.”

Keris nods gratefully. “Thank you. I think old grudges are too close to the surface here and now, so I’ll arrange for a third party at the Sceptred Leaf to contact you about the offer. Sometime in the next day or two, after heads have cooled.” She takes a breath. “I want all of us to benefit from this. I hope we can.”

The priestess-summoner-whatever pauses, looking at Keris. “If you don’t mind, please come with me to my tent. I wish to speak with you on spiritual matters - alone, without either these people or your man with you. I think we might be able to help one another.”

Keris considers, eyeing the woman up and tasting her power. She’s weak, but she’s not an ignorant mortal. And she has the taste of the Wyld. One of the people who got their chakras blasted open by a wyldstorm, or a progeny of a chaos prince?

((Enlightenment 1, Wyld essence))

Keris nods slowly. “Very well.” She glances at Xasan, considering whether he’s likely to start any fights if he leaves on his own, and decides that this grudge probably doesn’t rival the furious scathing bloodlust he has for the ones who burnt Baisha. And alone of the people in this tent, he knows she was entirely serious about ending any fights that break out. The priestess woman leads her out, to her own tent which sits by an open area behind a warehouse. It’s a taller tent than most, and there’s a fire in here kept by a younger woman wearing a similar - though less ornate - shawl. A few curt words from the older woman are enough to send her out.

“I am Sulekha Olol,” she says, “once-priestess of Ahlat. Now I am the witch for the Lionesses, and priestess when it is needed. And you, girl - you are kin to that man. I can see it in your face; one of your parents came from the old country. The man?”

“My uncle,” Keris admits. “My mother was his sister. Is,” she corrects herself hastily. “You’re enlightened, but not from Ahlat. A wyldstorm?”

“Ha, no. My mother went into a place that was cursed, and I was born malformed.” She jabs a finger at you. “But you, your power sears my eyes, and you walk around with a ghost on your back. What _are_ you?”

Keris hesitates. But honestly, if this woman has seen her strength already, there’s not really much point in lying. Not when she was planning to come clean anyway if they accepted her offer.

“Exalted,” she says simply. “Xasan’s not the employer; I am.”

((... man, that must have been a nasty shock for her; seeing E9 Keris wander into the room.))

“Hmm.” She nods. “Who chose you?” She grins behind her veil, what Keris can see of her almost feral. “The General is no friend of the Realm. If she was, she’d have probably joined their auxiliaries and vanished overseas rather than run away to Taira those years ago. And I don’t like Immaculates at the best of time. They make my skin crawl.”

“Tell me about it,” Keris mutters. “Who chose me - and what my offer is in full - can wait until the proper talks in a day or so. But I’ll tell you this much; I can heal. Magically. My uncle lost his hand, and I grew it back. My brother’s wife had a hole in her heart, and I closed it up. If the Lionesses sign on with me, I’ll offer them healing for any old injuries, as well as any suffered in my service - it’s in my interests as much as yours to have healthy soldiers, after all. So convince your general to let any past grudges go and take the offer seriously.” She rolls her eyes. “I’ll try to do the same for my uncle, which will be another headache.”

Behind her veil, Keris can tell she’s rolling her eyes. “They’re both highlanders,” she says, wry amusement in her voice. “Of course they’re psychotically obsessed with petty grudges and minor differences in origin. You might not have ever been to the old country, but the highlanders are the crazy ones. I grew up around the capital, where people aren’t mad from the air being too thin.”

Keris purses her lips to hide a smirk, with limited success. “Well, do your best and I’ll do mine,” she says. “Until our next meeting, Sulekha Olol. Unless you wanted more than just knowing what I was?”

“A question, if I may? There is a ghost on your back.” She pauses, perhaps building up courage to ask. “The spirit - why do you trap them there?”

“... she’s not trapped,” Keris says after a moment. “She sleeps, waiting for the sun to go down. Call her a familiar.”

“But a ghost who is not laid to rest in soil properly goes mad,” she insists. “How many days have you had them contained like that?”

Keris’s eyes narrow a fraction. “She’s shown no signs of madness,” she counters. Well, apart from being increasingly insistent about finding her parents, which Keris is really going to have to do something about soon. “And she’s been with me for a while.”

“How many days?” she insists again.

“... more than a month,” Keris admits, hating to reveal her apparent ignorance of ghost welfare but needing to make sure she hasn’t been hurting little Kerisa somehow with an inadequate resting place. “Perhaps two. Though she hasn’t been contained the whole time, and she hasn’t ever complained about it.” Her lips twitch. “The opposite, actually. She says it’s like a great lady’s palanquin.”

The witch breathes a sigh of relief. “Oh. Thank goodness. I had feared you were another Tairan foolish occultist drawing power from a hungry ghost. We met too many of them these past months. One is too many, and there were many more than one. There are necromancers here, in this land. Too much death, I think.”

“Ah,” Keris nods. “No, nothing like that. In life she was a very determined little girl. I rescued her bones from where they were trapped, and now she travels with me.” A faint breath of laughter. “I have no need of hungry ghosts for power.”

“Hmm. That is some relief.” Sulekha Olol looks Keris up and down, face and hands covered by the shawls and veils she wears. “You scare me, girl. We call ourselves lionesses, but I think you are the real beast who just walked into our compound. And you want us to run with you, and if we say no, you will eat us up.” She shakes her head. “Lionesses do not live up in the highlands. That place is where the hyenas rule. If you have blood from there, maybe you have their blood. Some say the moon loves hyenas while the sun loves lions.”

“Mmm. You have a better eye than most,” Keris allows. “It usually takes people longer to realise I’m dangerous. Especially nowadays.” She gestures down at her pregnancy. “But you don’t need to be scared. I’m not hungry enough to eat you just for turning me down. I won’t pretend I don’t want you - you and your whole pride - but I’m not one for petty vengeance on people who haven’t done me wrong.”

“I’ll talk to the others. I will tell them what you are. Nandi does not see the world properly. She thinks in terms of money and plunder and revenge, not the power of the gods and of ghosts and demons,” the woman says - and Keris wonders how old she really is. “But she can see the advantage of signing on with the chosen of the gods - someone who burns brighter to my eyes than a dragon of fire living in a volcano I once saw.”

“Then I’ll leave you to your talks,” Keris says, bowing out gracefully. “I’ll see you at the Sceptred Leaf, I hope.”

“Yes. We shall see,” the other woman says.  
Keris spends the rest of the day bouncing back and forth between the Sceptred Leaf and the Baishan camp, supervising the delivery of the saffron and then leaning on Kazem Motahari for her payment. It’s... quite a lot of money. Even with her having been ripped off in the deal, it is quite a lot of money.

Alas, Keris is well aware of her skills - or lack thereof - in actually spending and managing large amounts of money. They’ve been made even more evident to her recently. So instead of trying to handle the distribution herself, and also to avoid the temptation to keep it all _to_ herself, she goes to have a talk with the Baishan priest; Taymid.

“My uncle tells me you’ve been trying to keep the village together,” she says, after knocking at the door to his caravan and making some small talk. “And that people are starting to regret leaving. I can help there - the payment for the saffron I took finally came through. I want to split it up among the Baishans; give them all enough to pave their way for a few weeks or months in their new lives. I thought you might help me deal with handing it out and making sure everyone gets a fair and even share.”

She keeps an eye on him as she makes the offer. From what Xasan said, he should be fully in favour of this - it’s giving him a chance to preach his point of view as he hands over money, which is a tactic Keris knows from all the way back in her Nexan days, listening to the cults go on and on for the bread and soup that accompanied their sermons. But on the other hand, he is a priest - and she’s been less careful about hiding her power than she usually is, recently.

He considers things, and nods. “You did say you were going,” he says, with a firm nod. “No doubt you have your reasons. And you are taking young Ali with you?”

“He’s agreed to come,” Keris confirms with a nod. “Along with Maryam, Hany and Xasan.”

“Mmm.” He sighs. “I suppose that is how it must be. As Shamsun wishes, so it is.”

He does insist Keris sit with him, as he lists every family and asks her how each donation is meant. This sounds like something he is used to doing, handling charity to the poor of the village.

Keris tries to be as fair as she can; giving those with greater need a little extra without unbalancing things too much. She’s well aware, though, that this isn’t an area she’s skilled in - it’s no doubt somewhere Sasi would excel, but ledgers and sums have never been where Keris’s skills are at their best.

By the end, she’s... maybe a little bit glad that she’s not staying with these people. Zanara certainly is.

“This is so boring,” girl-Zanara whines in her head. “Who cares about these people and their silly little stories? Go back to the nice place with the baths and stuff!”

With a certain level of relief, Keris does just that, slinking back to the Sceptred Leaf to have another massage. She’d invite Zanyira to come with her, but... well, bluntly, Keris has no intention of letting Kazen or Orange Blossom near her family. If she can avoid them finding out she _has_ close family, all the better - though if he has the level of spies Keris would have in his position, that one’s probably a lost cause already.

Still, the privacy does give her a neat opportunity to check on Rathan and Oula again - both thoroughly engaged in some sort of plan for how to define fiefdoms in the Sea better - and have a quiet word with Kuha about money, and spending, and how Keris doesn’t actually have an infinite budget. Yet.

The talk with Kuha comes when she’s a little hungover. And also a little drunk. After a little bit of interrogation from Keris, it seems she tried introducing Oula to alcohol. Possibly trying to loosen the pretty demoness up.

Apparently Oula has a very high tolerance to spirits. Higher than Kuha. Keris tries not to be amused, and fails. In her defence, it’s pretty amusing. And means that Kuha is a lot more susceptible to Keris’s suggestions that she not repeat her actions to avoid feeling like this again in future.

“The neomah back in Hell didn’t act like she did,” Kuha protests miserably, nursing her head. “And she’s just as pretty as them. And less pink-purple. More like a real woman.”

“Different demons, different tolerances,” says Keris, utterly unsympathetic. “Come on, drink some water and lie down; you’ll feel better. Eventually.” She resolves to mention something about a spending limit for Kuha to Kazem as well. Or see if she can just claim the services free as a servant of Hell.

The meeting with the Lionesses is scheduled for the next day, and that night Keris is visited by a haunting.

Well, it’s really just Kerisa, who seems to be pouting despite the fact she wears a rigid mask covering her features. She just stands in the corner of the bathhouse where Keris is trying to relax and take the weight off her spine, and loudly harrumphs. And stares at the wall. And occasionally turns around, glares at Keris, and then turns back to the wall.

Keris squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, then levers herself upright. Or, uh. Tries. It takes a couple of failed attempts to rock forward out of her sprawl before she gives up and just slips further into the bath; righting herself in the water and coming up again more or less vertical.

“Hello, sweetheart,” she says. “What’s upsetting you?”

“You’re ignoring me! You’re doing other things at night!” There’s a thin chill in the air. “I want my mummy and daddy!”

Keris takes a deep breath, and lets it out.

“You’re right,” she says. “I’m sorry. We can do something about that now, if you like. You’ve seen my drawings, haven’t you? If you tell me what your mummy and daddy look like, I can draw a picture of them - one so good it’s like looking into a mirror. Then it’ll be easier for me to help you look, and you’ll have something to remind you of them while you’re in your box.”

“You haven’t found my parents!” Kerisa wails at her, her voice haunting and more than a little inhuman. The lights go out, leaving Keris in darkness. The only illumination is a spectral glow from the ghost, a dull blue that makes her eyes ache. There’s ice in the water and Keris can smell blood.

Oddly, Keris has a feeling of deja vu. She’s seen this behaviour before. It probably wouldn’t be if she wasn’t used to powerful and short tempered small people.

It’s like when her children throw a tantrum.

“Kerisa!” she says sharply, hoping she’s right. “I’m sorry you’re upset, but getting angry won’t help!” She gentles her tone soothingly. “I know; I know you miss them. Calm down and tell me about them.”

Internally, she wracks her brains. She _has_ been letting Kerisa slip a little; too caught up in the needs of the living to tend to the little ghost’s impossible dream. And she really needs to put some thought into what she’s going to _do_ with Kerisa, because this, as it stands, isn’t something she can keep up. Like it or not; Kerisa’s parents are dead - have been dead for a very long time. She doesn’t want to see that, but she’ll get angrier and angrier the longer she goes without finding them.

((Per+Pres to sooth her tantrum and direct her onto “talking about mummy and daddy”, which is at least connected enough to her Fetter that it might lure her into it. 4+5+2 stunt+4 Kimmy ExSux=7+4; 11 sux.))

For now, it can be put off because Kerisa bursts into tears and throws her cold, slightly slimy weight into Keris arms and cries into her hair. She smells of wet earth, dampness, and a hint of the foul odour of rotting flesh. She has no heartbeat, no pulse; she doesn’t even breathe.

It takes a bit and quite a few hugs - and promises to look harder - but she manages to calm Kerisa down. She drifts off through the walls, telling Keris she’s going to patrol around the hotel because her parents might be staying here.

“It’s sad, isn’t it?” Calesco says softly. Keris agrees. Her heart is wrenching. “Sometimes she seems like a little girl, but then you remember that she’s not. I don’t think she _can_ get over the fact they never came back for her.”

“But she can’t just _stop being a ghost_ , either,” Keris moans, leaning her head back into the water. “I mean, bar reincarnation, and that would be dying for her. And need her to let go of wanting them back in the first place.”

“I know.” Calesco sniffs. “I wish I could just turn her into a mezkerub. Then I could take her home with me and look after her. She’d have lots of friends too. But I don’t think it works like that.”

The girl in Keris’s stomach kicks at her, and she glances down with a frown. She seems to be the more violent of the two. Maybe because Rat wasn’t much of a fighter, while her memories of Yamal...

Keris blinks.

“... Yamal,” she says, quietly, mind suddenly whirring.

“Who?” Calesco asks.

“My... my past life,” Keris says, pushing herself back up from the slouch she’d settled into after Kerisa’s departure. “You remember- well, no, you don’t, you weren’t born then. But the... the Solar my power belonged to back in the High First Age; the person I was before the Usurpation happened and the Exalted were sealed away for so long and the Yozis found them and changed them back.” She’s babbling down, tripping over words in her haste to get them all out in a rush. “His name was Yamal Icewind. He had children, and a wife; he was a firefighter before he took the Second Breath, he didn’t like the old monsters of the Deliberative and preferred to spend time with mortals and Dragonblooded - I _know_ all of that. Because I _remember_ things about him; things _from_ him. Hells, twice I’ve gone so deep into the memories he’s taken over - it happened to Sasi, too. And that’s... that’s because...”

Light dawns on her face. “That’s because he never went through Lethe,” she whispers. “The cycle never washed away who he was. His soul went straight into me in that cell; fresh from when he’d had it.”

“I guess so,” Calesco says. Keris can almost hear her shrug. “That sounds complicated. Like the kind of thing you’d have to be Eko to understand. And then she’d forget her explanation half way through.”

“You don’t need to understand it - the point is, if it can happen to _him_ it can happen to _Kerisa_. A ghost is just a wandering soul... oh, though it’s all deathy and adapted to existing on its own without a po or a body.” Keris frowns. “But... if I can work out a way to deal with _that_ , and then a way to put her into a body with a fresh po but no hun, she- it wouldn’t be exactly like bringing her back to life; I’m not Yamal, but it would be the same basic _core_ of her and she’d be able to draw on her memories. And be alive, and not shackled to how a ghost’s mind works.” She purses her lips. “I need to learn more about how souls work. And also how ghosts work. And also try and sell the idea to her. But... it’s a better chance for her than anything else I can think of.”

“If it was easy, everyone would do it,” Calesco says cynically.

“Yes, but I’ve got access to a bunch of geniuses,” Keris says. “And equipment. And magic. I won’t get her hopes up, but it’s worth looking into, right?”

“Yes.” Calesco sighs. “And she’s not suffering. Except when she’s upset. I... I’m just scared of what happens if she mistakes someone else for her mother. She’s not like you. She’s like us. We’re all inhuman monsters and insane, pretending to be human because it keeps you happy. And I think she has less choice about her lie of humanity than we do.”

“All the more reason to make it a truth, then,” Keris mutters. “And I don’t want to hear things like that. You’re children of a human; that makes you human too. And honestly; I’ve seen demons try the human act. You and your siblings _are_ more... are less _spirit_ than they are. You six think in ways they don’t.”

“I’m... I’m sorry,” Calesco says in a small voice. “I’m... I’m just out of sorts. Dealing with her hurts. I’ll... I’ll just go try to calm down.”

“If you need me to come in and play or sing...” Keris offers, tentatively.

“I’ll just... the mezkeruby need more lessons. I’ll be fine. I... I...” Calesco swallows. “I don’t like ghosts. They scare me.”

Keris can’t argue with that. Though she does remind herself to spend some time with Calesco while she’s asleep tonight - it’s Haneyl’s day, so she’s free to make some music with her youngest daughter. Maybe that will help her.

She’s meeting up with her ally - of sorts - before the meeting, in his lavish office. There’s a little altar set up there, and he burns incense. Keris glances at the shrine. She recognises it. It’s not to one demon lord; it’s to three. There’s deer-footed Mara, there’s Lehereca Va the Tangerine Usurer, and there’s Obau, the Onyx Dissolute. That’s... an interesting combination. Might those be his patrons?

“So, to summarise,” he says elegantly, offering her a cigarillo, “you want to come into full ownership of these mercenaries and want to take them with you to the South West - and you’re willing to pay above the odds for that? And you have fine Vakotan steeds... a vertiable fortune, from what the man I sent to inspect your herd says.”

“Generosity wins friends,” Keris says, declining the cigarillo in favour of an apple bowl. “And if their leadership is grateful to me for a princely sum - and I can _ensure_ they’re grateful to me - they’ll be loyal and work towards whatever missions I ask of them.”

“This’ll be dear - and I doubt you’ll get them all,” he says, lighting up. He exhales a cloud of blue smoke. “They’re around a quarter light cavalry. They’d have to abandon their horses for such a long boat trip - and you’re about to give them more.”

He shuffles his papers. “I’ve had my men find out more about them. Quite an interesting history of criminality between them. Their general, Nandi Zwiswayo - a runaway Bride of Ahlat with a death sentence on her head for adultery. She lost her eye and those front teeth when they tried to capture her - she killed her way out. She might bring her teenage daughter along, the product of that adultery. Yasmin Zwiswayo’s a monster - she grew up on the battlefield and’s been killing since before she was ten. She leads a small formation of children like her. Their quartermaster, Nadifa Samatar, was part of a fencing operation in Harbourhead selling stolen goods from raider bands - and also putting the raiders in touch with people who wanted their services. And their head priestess is a woman named Sulekha Olo - she’s said to be horrifically twisted under her robes, and was banished from the priesthood in Harbourhead for theft and then nearly hunted down for witchcraft and rumoured demonology and necromancy.”

He pauses. “It’s all here,” he says, passing her the notes.

Keris looks them over, whistling softly to herself through her teeth and plucking a few notes from the air absentmindedly. He’s not wrong about them being interesting. But theft, adultery, fencing, demonology... to Keris, these things aren’t really crimes. Not the kind that would rouse her ire; not the sort that would get Calesco riled up and demanding action. Yasmin is an admittedly worrying quantity, but Keris was just as feral at her age; tempered only by Rat.

“I want as many of them as I can get,” she says, her smile as sharp and wide as a snake’s.

“Well, that’s your choice,” he says with a shrug. “Just one more thing. Should they be approached with an offer to serve the true masters of the world?”

Keris considers for a moment, though in truth she made the decision the day before. “Yes,” she replies. “Like I said in our last meeting, I have a patron in mind for them already - Asarin, the False Sun. I think she’ll suit them well, and they her. I’m sure you have more experience in cult-building that I do; so I’ll leave that in your hands. Though I will be watching,” she adds, with a glance at the shrine to his own patrons.

“Yes, I just wished to see if it should be done as part of this offer,” he says. “It might scare them off - but it might be possible to pass her off as a goddess. At least for long enough that,” he smiles, “it doesn’t matter.”

“That’s done easily enough,” Keris agrees with a nod. “Asarin is little-known in Creation, and it won’t be hard to call her a goddess of the Southwest.”

“As you wish, my lady,” he says. He pauses. “And will the esteemed lord of Hell you met me with be accompanying you?”

Keris narrows her eyes at him. She was certainly planning on having Rathan there - he showed how useful he is during the very first meeting with this man. But she wants to know how Kazem feels about that before she commits to it. And oh, isn’t that interesting? He’s nervous. Nervous, but also hungry. She thinks he wants to impress Rathan.

Keris sincerely hopes it’s merely a clearly power-hungry man looking for another demon lord patron, and not... ick, any form of attraction from _this_ man to her son.

“... he will,” she says, trying her best not to leap over the table and strangle him while making dire threats towards his manhood. “I’ve met with them briefly to let them know an offer will be coming, and revealed myself as a being of power - though not what kind. I’m confident that their witch, at least, is in favour of joining me already.”

“Hmm.” He makes some notes. “Very well. I have a few things to prepare, and then I will meet you ten minutes beforehand in the Emerald Room in the main building. Do not worry - I have arranged for a lunch service.”

There’s maybe an hour to go, so Keris has just enough time to pick out what she’s going to wear and clean up. She needs to make the best possible first impression in these formal negotiations as their prospective employer - and she wants them, mind body and soul, too.

... she probably also needs to make sure Rathan is dressed appropriately and also that Oula isn’t going to object with Rathan meeting with other women.

To that end, she blows into the suite and calls her ragtag entourage together. “I’m trying to hire some mercenaries to protect Ali and his family on the way to the Southwest,” she explains. “And to be my sworn spears once I’m back there. That means I need to impress them and get them liking me, so Rathan, you’re going to be helping - like you did with Kazem; you were perfect there and I need you to do that sort of thing along with winning them over. Oula,” she continues, moving immediately to quell her student’s unease with a wink, “there’s no need to worry, I’ll be there to chaperone - and it’s business, anyway, not drinks at a bar.”

“Now, Rathan, I need you to look your _absolute best_ that isn’t outright inhuman; go for something princely that disguises your horns, and... argh, I need to pick what to _wear_ , what to wear...”

She considers. Their witch knows her power, but the first time Nandi saw her was in courtesan garb as Cinnamon, and the second time she was just wearing ordinary clothes. If she’s going to win their respect, Keris needs to make a solid impression of strength to reinforce what Sulekha has told them about her. Tricky when she’s so pregnant she can barely walk. But not impossible. So, probably armour of some sort. Her superheavy plate... likely isn’t appropriate, which means... hmm, yes. That pirate-queen jacket, and some loose trousers with boots... perhaps Ascending Air as well... oh, and her hair should obviously be combat-ready with the various sharp Desert-glass and silver weapon-ornaments...

((Cog + Expression to make herself into an artistic social attack.))  
((Hee~))  
((4+5+2 stunt+9 Kimmy ExD+4 Pelagic Muse Artistry autosux {“talent-for-temptation”/pirate queen aesthetics}=20. 12+4=16 sux, lol. And at the very least the witch may well get hit by MDV penalties from that.))  
((Keris will also put up Beauty-Over-Truth and Carmine Mantled Emissary before going into the room, to cover her while she’s in there and stop Nandi from applying that grudge against Xasan. She’ll flare her caste mark this scene while preparing to cover her mote expenditure as she prepares, and put up BOT and CME from a full tank just before entering the room.))

An hour later, Keris walks into the Emerald Room as the very _model_ of a rich and alluring pirate-queen; flanked by Rathan at her side.

Kazem Motahari lets out an impressed whistle as he sees Keris - and Rathan, too - and bows. “Excellent. Now, I’ll be waiting for them here. I’ll make the initial discussions and get them underway, and when I give my instructions, the two of you will enter.” He hurries them out to a side room.

Keris has a little bit of time - and he might not know that she can hear everything he’s saying to them. It’s quite... fun, knowing he doesn’t expect her to hear everything. He’s there, making his offers.

He might be a dissolute sybarite and she might be starting to hate him, but he’s very very good at what he does. He lays out the terms, he speaks in broad yet flattering words of what she plans, he emphasises the value of the payment and how this is a long term contract where the lady will make them rich in return for loyalty.

((10 successes on his roll, vs their 3. Things are going very well.))

“Mama,” Rathan says softly. “When we’re done, can you summon a boy for me? I just need a break from Oula. She’s nice, but she’s different.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Keris agrees in an undertone. “Anyone in particular? Any dukes or counts you like doing boy stuff with?”

“Mmm.” Rathan considers his options. “Viscount Mele, I think. He’ll be able to give you someone to spar with now Oula has gone all soft and girly, and he’s a lot of fun. And likes books and even has a szelkerub-run papernews of his own.”

Keris feels obliged to point out that Oula hasn’t actually _lost_ her skills with the spear, but agrees readily enough to his request, and gives him a quiet running commentary on what Kazem is saying and how the Lionesses are reacting to it in the room beyond.

“I’m pretty sure Oula could leave Rathan flat on his back, moaning - and not in the way she wants,” Calesco contributes snidely. She’s probably doing it to make Keris cringe.

And then there’s the signal to make their grand entrance.

“Shall we, mama?” Rathan says, offering Keris his arm with a little bow. He pushes his dark glasses back up his nose with a long elegant finger. “Let’s blow their tiny human minds.”

Striding towards the door, Keris pushes the doors open in a grand, sweeping gesture, entering with her head held high and her coiled hair shifting just enough to be more than what her steps can account for. She can feel Rathan’s light haloing the pair of them, and graces the room with a benevolent smile and a tilt of her head.

Their entrance into the room is not just a motion, and their appearance is not just recognition. It’s a physical presence. It’s a tidal wave, smashing everything in front of them. Keris might be so pregnant she waddles and dressed to cover up that she’s due in maybe only days, but that doesn’t matter.

Because she’s here, and she’s a heart-breakingly beautiful Harbourhead half-breed dressed to kill and armed to the teeth. And all the nice things that Kazem Motahari has been saying about her seem like polite understatements under the crushing oceanic depths of her force of personality, Rathan her red-dressed emissary towering over her.

“Ladies,” she greets them pleasantly, taking a seat at the head of the table. “I trust Kazem has explained my offer to you?”

Nandi is there. Thank goodness, her daughter is not. That’s a good sign because it probably means she’s looking to make a good impression. She’s in what’s probably her dress uniform, with a polished bronze cuirass which - Keris thinks - is a little too thin and shiny to be great armour, but does look impressive and set off her darker skin well.

“Yes,” she says, clearly fighting to remain wary of Keris. “I know what your Dragonblooded lackey wants - you basically want to buy us.”

“I want to offer you a chance to leave the tired fields of Taira behind and move to new pastures - a region full of conflicts and warring lords but not consumed by open war or tired of battle,” Keris says with a smile, the barb of Nandi’s accusation sliding right past her. “I want to act as a patron to you and your lionesses; letting you take work when I have no need of you and rewarding you handsomely for the missions I ask for. I want to be sure that you won’t turn on me as you’ve turned on other employers when they’ve failed to pay you your due, and I want to do it by proving myself generous, powerful and able to give you things nobody else can. Like healing to restore your eye. Like a divine patron who will listen when you call on her. Like training beyond what mortal teachers can offer. You already sell your spears to lords who can pay your prices - would it be so terrible, to be bought?”

“You say a divine patron?” It’s Sulekha Olol, wearing a darker veil and even more protective charms. Keris thinks she’s worried by... well, her. “Who?”

((Chance to sell her on Asarin, Per + Pres, stunt your case.))  
  
It’s not likely that a demon lord as little-known and Hell-bound as Asarin would be known to a witch of Harbourhead and Taira. It’s doubtful in the extreme. Still, Keris’s heart starts a quick beat of worry as she makes her case.

“She is an ally of mine,” she says. “A goddess of fire and war named Asarin, who holds power in the Southwest where I come from and who armours herself in her own flames. She looks favourably on women in battle and on those who refuse to be trapped by false oaths, and she has much to offer those who call upon her. She is a trustworthy patron and,” she smirks, “I assure you; no friend to Ahlat.”

((4+5+2 stunt+3 Mendaciloquent Maverick+5 Kimmy ExD=19. 7 sux.))  
((... Jesus, you barely scraped it as she decided to go and suddenly ace her Occult roll with 6 successes on 7 dice.))  
((*twitches*))

The others look towards Sulekha Olol. “I do not know of her,” she says cautiously, “though a goddess who would be willing to stand on our side against certain malign spirit-servants of Ahlat would be much welcome.”

“Asarin would shield you from his wrath,” Keris confirms. “She may not be as strong as Ahlat himself, but she is more than proof against his servants - especially in the Southwest, further from the seat of his power.”

Nadifa Samatar speaks to Keris for perhaps the first time, her thin hands steepled in front of her. “We’ll need a break clause. We won’t sign up for endless servitude.”

“Naturally,” Keris dips her head. She’s pretty sure that’s good news. If they’re talking about having ways open to break the contract, that probably means they’ve half-accepted there’ll be one. “And I’ll want sureties of my own,” she adds, because she _does_ want to be sure that they won’t just make off with her money, and Rathan’s light protects her from offending them.

((Roll me Per + Pres for your part in the progression of negotiations, since you’re essentially leading at a personal level and Kazem is just wrapping up the paperwork. Rathan is worth 3 autosuccesses here.))  
((Cool. Enhancing with Price-of-Everything Undercurrents and Hidden Depths Temptress.  
4+5+2 stunt+9 Kimmy ExD+3 Rathan sux+2 PoEU sux x2 HDT=20. (8+5)x2=26 sux, lol.))

The negotiations progress. And... well, it’s not really fair. Not at all. Between the demon lord, the Terrestrial, and the princess of Hell in the room offering all kinds of blandishments, the mortals crack and succumb.

When it comes down to it, of course, Keris is offering them a great deal of money to serve as her personal honour guard, offering them supernatural healing and all kinds of wound-fixing, and divine patronage. And they know she’s something more than human. She gets that much off them.

And then Kazem comes in to wrap them up in contracts and agreements and things which superficially seem fair but rather favour Keris.

When they’re seen out, he claps his hands together. “Well, that went well,” he says. “I could have argued them down rather more in price, but you did say you wanted long term loyalty.” He glances at Rathan. “Does that please you, my lord?” he asks ingratiatingly.

Rathan beams at the compliment. “Oh, very much so,” he observes. “I’ll tell my peers and fellow souls - and greater self - of the favour you did Keris.”

“I’m definitely happy with how things turned out,” Keris agrees, and it’s true enough that she manages a genuine smile for Kazem. “I’ll be sure to thank Orange Blossom for asking you to assist me. I’ll probably be on my way soon, and I doubt I’ll come back through Terema again before leaving Taira entirely.”

“Oh, that was a rather profitable exchange for both of us,” Kazem says with a flip of his hand. “Which is the best kind of exchange, right? Something which helps friends?”

“Of course,” Keris says, the genuine camaraderie and warmth starting to flake away again immediately at the reminder of Kazem’s own ends and means.

“I must say, you work rather differently to Lady Orange Blossom,” Kazem says urbanely in passing. 

“Oh?” Keris’s hackles rise.

“Oh yes. She likes having all the cards. She goes into meetings with everything already stacked in her favour, so they can only get what they want by coming to her. But you’re like a tsunami in human form. You sweep in, and try to sweep them up and carry them along with you.”

“Different people,” is Keris’s only comment to that, as she turns away to leave. “Different styles.”

She has firsthand experience of Orange Blossom doing things that way. It’s not an approach she enjoys.

With the negotiations out of the way, Keris feels much more relaxed. She takes a few days off to handle family matters and spend time around her brother and his family. Ali is nervous; Zany is more than a little awed at the fact she’s going on an oceanic adventure with actual real Harbourheadite mercenaries.

And it is going to be an oceanic adventure. After talking with Nandi, enough of the Lionesses have death sentences on their heads in Harbourhead that they really do have to travel down the Grey River, then out that way. Her planned route actually seems to take her to the Blessed Isle for one point, before crossing back to the Southern coastline just short of the Hook.

“Just see the sights, keep out of trouble and let the Lionesses protect you,” she tells her family reassuringly. “It’ll be fine. Most of it will be boring river travel and sailing, honestly. And if I beat you back there by enough time, I might be able to meet you en route. By the end of Earth you’ll be set up in a new home and the whole trip will be a story to tell when you’re older.”

“Are they trustworthy?” Ali asks again.

“I have given them a lot - and I mean a _lot_ \- of money to keep you safe, they have solid interests in getting to the Southwest and finding work there, I’ve promised them things I won’t give them until you’re safe and sound in Saata, _and_ ,” Keris pauses for breath, “they know I’m powerful enough to kill them all if any of you are so much as scratched when I see you next. You’ll be fine. I’m sending you with a whole wing of veteran soldiers to protect you.”

He doesn’t look comfortable with it - but then again he seldom does.

And Keris has a pleasant discovery to make. There’s maybe forty former Bloody Lionesses who Nandi has rounded up - pensioned off veterans whose injuries meant they couldn’t continue. Some of them have clearly been living in squalor here in Terema, making a living however someone with their injuries could. Other ones are the people maintaining their depots and the like - all too injured to fight anymore.

“Same rate for all of them?” she asks, flashing her dentures. “If you want all the soldiers you can get and can fix a missing arm, I’ll find you more.”

“I’ve grown back hands and feet. I can do arms,” Keris confirms. “I’ll restore your eye before we set off, and I’ll do one or two limbs as proof, but the mainstay of the healing will come in Saata - after my family’s safe arrival.”

“Hah. Though they’ll need paying. I’m sure you’re good for it,” Nandi says. “But let’s get it done. Do you need any kind of magic room or special workplace to fix my eye and teeth?”

“No. Just privacy, and the understanding that it’ll feel uncomfortable. Do you want to keep the scar, or fix it along with your eye?”

“Fix it all.” The woman’s eye is hard. “These ain’t battle scars.”

((Is Keris self-seeding these people as a policy?))  
((Hmm. I think... well, for the moment she’s just doing Nandi and one or two test cases. So she’ll hit Nandi with Kindness Expects Repayment rather than a self-seed for the moment, because she’s aware of how her self-seeds prevent the hosts from even arguing with her, and she wants Nandi as a general. It costs more, but the benefit of doing it this way is that she has enough time to spend the extra motes and remove the self-seed once she’s done with surgery.))

It takes time, but within a few days Keris has seen to everything she needs to and the Bloody Lionesses have pulled back to Terema.

“There’s about a hundred out on longer term assignments, but I’ve ordered a recall,” the now two-eyed (and also looking ten years younger) Nandi says. She’s wearing the eyepatch when here, but she says she’s going to burn it for good when they’re out of here. “We’ll start up river and let them catch up - they’ll be able to move faster. And we’ve already got hold of a few captains willing to take us to Nexus. We’ll be leaving tomorrow, along with your passengers. Anything else you want shipped with us?”

“Just my family,” Keris says. “Keep them safe, General. Swift passage and fair winds.”

“Not coming to see us of? Hah, guess not. You’re due any day now by the looks of you. Well, I’ll see you in a season or two.”

As she says it, the babies kick again; hard, reminding Keris of their presence.

Despite the early hour, Keris is, in fact, there to see them off the next morning. Rather than repeat anything to Nandi, however, she focuses on her family.

“You’ll be fine,” she says, hugging Zany, then Hany, then - somewhat more awkwardly - Ali. “I _promise_. I swear to you, you will get there safe and sound and I will meet you when you do. I love you all - and I’ll miss you while we’re apart.” She taps Hany on the nose. “Behave, okay?   
And the next time you see me, you can meet your cousins.”

“I already met Ratty!” Hany says loudly, with all the attitude of a three year old who’s found an adult to be wrong. “And you need to come back Aunty Keris! You’re fun! You can’t go away!”

“You can meet your _baby_ cousins,” Keris amends. “I won’t be away for long, I promise. And you’ll have lots of stories to tell me about your trip!” She gives Zanyira a smile - honestly, Keris is almost as nervous as Ali, she’s just hiding it better. Now that the time has come to part, her little mortal family seems heartbreakingly fragile. “Safe passage and fair winds,” she says quietly. Half plea, half promise. And she waits at the dockside with Xasan until they’re out of sight.

“They’re away. Out of this blood-soaked country,” Xasan says. “Good. Now comes revenge. Now is time to add more crimson to the soil of Taira.”

**Author's Note:**

> This arc is followed by the Kerisgame extra [Trust Your Instincts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13788219)


End file.
